


Fly My Heart To Freedom

by ScarletteStar1



Category: Wentworth (TV)
Genre: Angst, Canon, Canon Lesbian Relationship, Erotica, Eventual Smut, F/F, Fridget, I need a Fridget intervention, Lesbian, Love, Short Stories, Song fic, Wentworth - Freeform, canon until it isn't, fridget af, gay af, sexy times in water just bc, what if the whole show were just Fridget?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-26
Updated: 2018-06-13
Packaged: 2019-04-28 05:57:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 26,971
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14442852
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ScarletteStar1/pseuds/ScarletteStar1
Summary: "Keep the nightmares out, give me mouth to mouth.  I can't live without ya, take me to your house.  Take me, take me, home. . .  "  --  Daughter, Home.From the moment they meet, the chemistry between them is rare and intense, a connection deeper than anything either of them have ever known.  But as inexplicable lust drags them helplessly toward love, they find the complications are way more than they ever could have predicted. This fic attempts to fill in all the luscious little blanks in between the moments on the show. Mostly canon compliant... until it isn't and I take some liberties.





	1. Patterns

I wanted to go to her. Appear in her door. Slink over the threshold into her office. She’d said I could. She’d offered as much.

She wanted to get inside my head.

But that wasn’t what I wanted.

Yeah, I wanted her inside me. It made me crazy how much I wanted her to fill up every inch of me. I itched with wanting it until my skin felt it would crawl off and walk away, leave me completely bare and raw. Just thinking about it made me clench up involuntarily, whether from desire or from trying to just keep my skin on, I don’t know. I wanted and wanted until my head was thick and muzzy with it, until it felt like a drug obscuring my every thought with its heavy desire. Having her inside of me was going to be the only thing that would ever give me clarity or relief or a moment’s peace again. I wanted her inside of me until it hurt.

But not in my head. I didn’t want her in there.

Funny thing about being distracted and without your skin in prison; it makes you vulnerable as fuck. When you’re mind is floating off in a cloud of desire, you’re left open to all sorts of shit. Westfall was gonna be the death of me. Quite literally.

So I wanted to go to her because maybe it would get me out of this daze. I wanted to go because maybe it would scratch the itch. I wanted to go because of reasons I didn’t even know how to name. Maybe something would happen. Maybe she’d squint those blue eyes at me and something would shift inside of me and I’d feel better.

 _Fuck it. I’ll go_ , I hissed under my breath as I stabbed a mop into a bucket. I started to walk down the hall. _She owes me. She put this crazy notion into my fucking head and now I’m all sorts of fucked up over it_.

“Doyle!” Jackson yelled at my back. “Where do you think you’re going?” I didn’t answer. I kept walking.

As I walked, this strange thing grew in me, wrapped around my guts and squeezed. Who did she think she was, telling me I was _anger and hope all over_ like she knew who the fuck I was after five minutes? Who was she to get me all wrapped up craving for something I didn’t even know how to name?

I stared at the alternating gray tiles in their dingy pattern as I stomped down the hall. She’d said she wanted to help me break my patterns of self destruction and help me escape. Well, not escape exactly. She wanted to help me get parole. Whatever. Same difference. And that was suddenly what I wanted to say to her, painted all over my lips like her silky raspberry lipstick, “When I look at you, Gidget, I see freedom.”

And that’s what it was.

Because when someone looks at you and sees a thing in you that you’ve never seen, and you see yourself for one flashing second through their sight, that second is an opening into something infinite.

Maybe I didn’t even wanna fuck her. Nuh, I still wanted to fuck her. I wanted to push her back on her desk, shove up her skirt to her hips and spread her legs open so I could bite in between her thighs. I wanted to lick behind her knees and taste where she would no doubt be a bit sweaty from sitting in all those long meetings with that ape of a governor. I wanted to rip her blouse and hear the tiny buttons pop off and click onto the floor, onto the patterned tile. Patterns. I bit the inside of my cheek in place of her thigh. Screwing her would just be another one of my patterns. A pleasurable pattern, but a pattern none the less.

Anyway, girls like me didn’t get women like her. Oily, violent girls with dark eyes who smell like the kitchen don’t get women who are well moisturized, balanced, and poised for greatness.

I stopped short in front of her door. My heart was flying. What seemed a good idea was suddenly sweaty and stupid, shaking around in my head with an irritating clatter. Immediately I knew it had been a mistake. My mind started to crowd with excuses for Jackson of how I’d gone off cuz I’d been sick or had to shit or thought I’d had a visit with my lawyer.

“Fuck!” I hissed, knowing none of that was going to pass muster. I turned around and bent over into myself.

“Franky? Is that you?” She asked. She fucking knew it was me, I thought. Who else would it be. I straightened and considered my options. _Run. Face it. Fuck it_.

“Yeah. Hey,” I said. My hands went involuntarily into my hair. I felt my mouth drop open into a stupid smile.

“Come in,” she said and stood from her desk. “Are you okay? What’s going on? We don’t have an appointment until tomorrow.”

“Yeah,” I stammered. “It’s just. . . I thought. Well, Gidge, I thought ya’d be missing me, and another day would just be torture for you so here I am. At your service.” I opened my arms as though supplicating myself before her. She was still standing behind her desk, her fingers perched neatly on the edge of a file. She blinked at me several times, but she didn’t speak. It was one of those irritating therapist things. They all did it. Digging into the silence to see what they came up with. I never did so well with silence, so I stepped into her office and rambled on. “Well, here I am. I wore my lucky undies, which could be very lucky for you.” I felt my eye wink at her as though it were being operated by a puppeteer. This was not how I’d wanted this to go.

She breeched the perimeter of her desk, but only came around the front of it. She shifted on her feet so one hip tilted up. She crossed her arms over her chest. Her heels must have been a good three inches, but she still looked tiny, almost elfin standing there like that. Her lips pressed together in a thin, pink line. Still she didn’t speak.

“What’s the matter? You not in the mood? On the rag?” I took a step closer. Oh I was on a roll, crushing every pretty word I’d prepared for her with my filthy advances. My insides churned with anger like water starting to heat up in a pot. She took a breath in, let it out in a huff and dropped her arms to her sides. In that moment, all the sharp angles of the prison started to fade. The world was losing its edges and blurring into curves like the soft landscape of her body- the easy slope of her hip, the sweet pillow of her cheek, the delicate valley of the small of her back. For a moment I thought I would black out as my eyes filled and everything went velvet. If I could have just touched her, maybe it would have given me the strength to speak the words I really wanted to say. When I look at you, I see my freedom. But I didn’t say that. Instead, I said, “Cat got your tongue? You’re not gonna say anything?”

Her lips relaxed into a smile, but she looked sad. She glanced up at the ceiling and said, “Did you come here to talk, Franky? Or did you come here to play more of your cat and mouse games with me?”

“It’s not a game.”

“It is a game and I do not like it.” Her words were clipped, like maybe she was cross, but I couldn’t actually tell what she was feeling and that made me furious.

“Like I’d waste my time playing with you,” I snapped.

“You’re angry because you think you aren’t getting something you want from me. Why don’t you sit down and we can talk through it. I think with some communication we can get to a more comfortable and productive place.”

“You have no clue how I feel,” I exhaled.

“If you’re not angry, then help me understand what you are feeling. I can help you through it if you talk to me.”

I rolled my eyes and shook my head. This was a colossal mistake. I had to get the fuck out of there before I started to bawl. “You’re all talk. I thought you were different, but you’re not. You shrinks are all alike.” I gave one of her chairs a little shove on my way out of her office and stomped back to my mop and bucket and repercussions.

“Franky,” she called after me.

“Leave me the fuck alone!” I yelled over my shoulder.

Thing about patterns is, they are a fucking bitch to break.


	2. Interior Decorating

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is the longest thing I've written in a while... I hope you don't mind the length, but I just got on a roll and had so much fun with the dialogue between these two precious ones. What can I say? The response to my first little story was so warm and wonderful. You sweethearts got me all motivated. 
> 
> Generally, my little stories are not sequential. They are more scenes or drabbles that just come to mind and that I want to play with a bit. But this one actually seemed to piggy back on the chapter one, and seems to fit into Season 3 someplace. At any rate, I'm setting things up for some eventual delicious smutty Fridget.

_**"If the walls were too thin, you would break in, mmm, if the walls were to thin, you would break right in. . ." --  Glasser, Apply.** _

 

The tube of mascara made a satisfying clatter as it fell back into my makeup drawer. I looked around for a moment and located the new lipstick, the creamy red one. It was a couple shades brighter than what I usually wore, but still subtle enough to wear to work at the prison. I applied it in even strokes over my lips, noticing it made them appear a bit fuller than they had when bare. This appearance of fullness pleased me; over the past year my lips seemed thinner. I rubbed my lips together and set the tube of lippie down.

Leaning in a bit closer to the mirror, I considered my appearance. Once the day set to rolling, I wouldn’t think much on how I looked, but this was a little morning ritual I allowed myself to indulge in. I counted the fine lines around my eyes and mouth. Some would say they were signs of a life well lived with lots of laughter, but I knew that wasn’t necessarily true. They bothered me, these traces of age.

And besides, I looked tired. That third glass of wine hadn’t done me any favors the night before as I’d sat up writing case notes. I was going to have to check my work over carefully to make sure I hadn’t made any alcohol-induced errors. In the mean time, my face looked a bit puffy and pale. I reached for my large powder brush and swept some highlighter over my cheek bones.

I plucked a tissue out of the box and blotted my lips against it.

She’d noticed my lipstick. She’d leaned over me and told me it looked good, then asked me how it tasted. I stared at her impassively, the way I’d been taught, and the way I’ve practiced for the past 25 years in the field. Hopefully she couldn’t see the movement of my jaw as I bit my tongue to avoid saying, “Why don’t you come a little closer and find out for yourself?” I’d caught myself in this urge and was nothing short of shocked. Externally, there was barely a show, but had I been hooked up to anything measuring my biometrics, it would have caught the quickening of my pulse, the dilating of my irises, and the rise of my body heat.

Where on earth had that thought even come from? I’d never been even remotely tempted to say such a thing to a client, let alone a prisoner.

It concerned me.

I wrote it off as being caught off guard by her attempt at intimidation, although I’d never been one to be caught off guard or intimidated before. I told myself it had been late in the day and I’d not had my lunch yet so my blood sugar was low. I reasoned that every consummate professional has a momentary lapse or slip once in a while and it was understandable and I should cut myself a break. I convinced myself the urge came from a place of deep seated fear and possibly some counter-transference and I could take this up when I met with Dr. Atkin next week for our monthly consultation. Even as I rambled this list of excuses off in my mind, I knew I was rationalizing something that was beyond strange, something that was wrong.

It all concerned me.

In any other prisoner, I would have been able to identify how they were playing me, how they were using their power, insecurity, sexuality, and primal aggression to get their way, to get certain results from me. But with Franky it was. . . different. I couldn’t tell what she wanted from me, or even if she wanted anything at all. She seemed to be craving intelligent companionship.

As I pulled my hair back into a loose pony tail, I smiled, remembering how she casually mentioned the governor being a sociopath. “Don’t tell me you haven’t checked her off against the DSM,” she’d snorted. She’d rolled her eyes when I looked confused and continued, “You know the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual?” I’d laughed, genuinely laughed. Now that was a first. Actually it was two firsts- the first time an inmate had woven the DSM into off handed conversation, and also the first time I’d found myself genuinely laughing with an inmate. Her humor was savvy and spot on and surprising as hell.

I leaned into my mirror to closely examine my eye makeup and smudged my liner a bit with my ring finger. “What the hell are you doing?” I asked my reflection. The woman in the mirror stopped smiling and shrugged back at me with a steady but sad expression on her face.

I slipped out of my robe an hung it on the back of the bathroom door, then went back into my adjoining bedroom to dress. My black leather pants had come back from the cleaners and I’d prepped them for an outfit, but I opted for a more conservative pair of crisp, dress pants in a shade that complimented the lipstick but was far more conservative than the leather. It was supposed to be warm and the windows in my office did not open. Leather doesn’t breathe well, and if my session with Franky made my internal temperature rise again, I didn’t want to be sitting there sweating in my pants. As I buttoned my navy blue blouse, I noted that I’d never taken an inmate into consideration when dressing before.

More cause for concern.

But it was concern that had to wait because I was about to be late. As it was, I got to the prison just in time for the morning round up with Ferguson. She had not told me about the meeting, and I knew she didn’t want me there, so I made it my business to be there religiously, and to be on time. She kept things short and sweet as usual.

“A word, Miss Westfall,” she said crisply at the end as all the other officers shuffled out. She waited until everyone had gone then addressed me. “You seem to have taken a keen interest in Franky Doyle. I’ve noticed she’s in your schedule again today.”

“Her parole hearing is coming up soon and she’s been working hard on getting her head into a decent space,” I answered. “Do you have a problem with how I’m doing my job?”

She smiled and narrowed her eyes. “I do not have a problem with how you do your job so long as there is not a whiff of impropriety, Miss Westfall. And I have heard rumors; rumors that have persisted despite my previously addressing this concern with you.”

“I don’t concern myself with rumors. Is that all?”

“Mmmh,” she said. I turned to leave. “You know,” she began. I paused and turned back around. “It would all fit Doyle’s pattern, seducing you, using you. She did the same thing with her previous social worker. It was quite the scandal. I confiscated a whole packet of letters she’d written to Erica Davidson after Davidson had been dismissed from her position for her incompetence. I don’t suppose she has addressed that with you in your sessions, has she? How she tried to seduce Davidson and then got her own heart broken in the process? Oh if only the other women knew,” here she chuckled a little at her own sick humor. “She would have been seen as much more of a puppy dog than a top dog. They would have torn her to shreds. Has she told you any of that?”

“What I discuss with inmates in session is confidential,” I said. My tone was even but my heart had started racing and I was terrified Ferguson would sense my discomfort like a wasp.

“Of course,” Ferguson said and nodded. “Of course. But you say she’s making progress?”

“Yes. She is.”

“Very well,” she tapped her pencil as if she were deep in thought. “You know, I gave the original letters back to Doyle, but I kept copies just in case they would be needed documentation at some point. I don’t suppose you’d like to take a look at them?”

“No,” I said, calm and definitive. “That is completely unnecessary at this point in terms of the goals on which we are working. Is there anything else you wanted to discuss?”

“Not for now. Just quell these rumors or I will have to take more decisive action. Am I understood?”

I nodded once and walked out. It was a damn good thing I’d not worn the leather pants because I hadn’t even gotten to my office and my blood was already boiling. I hated the sense that the governor was playing with me, that she was planting a row of poisoned seeds that would threaten to skew my objectivity. I got to my office and closed the door. I twisted the shades to close them so I could deescalate in private. I peeled off my jacket and flopped down into my desk chair, exhaling heavily.

It struck me as very strange that the predominant feeling I was experiencing was one of sorrow. The thought of Franky writing love letters to her former social worker was almost devastating. I could picture her scowl as she wrote, her wrinkled brow, her pointy little chin quivering as she swallowed back a sob. I shook my head to get the image out of my mind and jabbed at the button to turn on my computer. I still had to review those progress reports from the night before, and hopefully not do too much editing.

A rap at the door brought me out of my daze. I glanced at the clock on the wall and saw eleven o’clock had come fast while I was working. “Come in!” I called and an officer opened the door and ushered in Franky Doyle. The sight of her standing before me was a surprise, as I remembered we had an appointment, and realized I’d not thought of her for nearly 90 minutes. I thanked the officer and asked him to return in an hour. “How are you today, Franky?”

“Oh, I’m just stupendous, yeah.” She sat down in one of the plush, green armchairs.

“You sound like you’re feeling something,” I stated. “Frustrated, perhaps?”

She looked at me and smiled at this. I should have been more mindful of my wording. Her green eyes glittered and she licked her lips. “Sure I’m frustrated.” She widened her legs in the seat. “You offering to help un-frustrate me, Gidget?” Her eyebrows waggled up and down.

I smiled in spite of myself. I sucked my lower lip into my mouth and rolled my eyes at her. Somehow my legs had crossed themselves and I was squeezing my thighs together. I took a breath and forced myself to relax when I noticed this. My silence did not elicit any further communication from Franky, so I said, “Perhaps I mislabeled your feeling. I apologize. Talk to me about how you are feeling, Franky.” When I said her name it felt good in my mouth, the way my teeth had to hit my lower lip on the “Fr,” and then the way my mouth had to open for the “Annk,” and then close again so my lips pressed on the “Y.”

She wrinkled her nose and shifted in her seat as if she were restless. “It’s like I told you before. I’m so bored. It’s like there’s nothing here anymore to get my blood pumping.”

“Sometimes when people say they are bored, they are feeling or meaning that they are depressed. Do you feel you’re depressed, Franky?” I said her name again. Just to say it.

“Why the fuck wouldn’t I be depressed?” She snapped at me. “I’m cooped up in here with no one to talk to but a bunch of dickheads. I mean to really talk to.”

“Well you have me.”

She rolled her eyes and huffed. “Yeah, I have you for an hour a day and only cuz you’re getting paid to sit there and listen to all of us so we don’t go completely mad as cut snakes in here.”

“Is that why you think I’m here?”

“Well, isn’t it?” Her lips twisted into a sideways sneer. I was quiet, trying to think of what to say. Truthfully, I was exhausted from wanting my sleep the night before, and sleep deprivation was not the best ingredient for mental acuity. I was also feeling keenly dehydrated.

“It doesn’t really matter why I’m here,” I finally came up with. “What matters is why you’re here. What would you like to talk about today?”

“Typical shrink answer,” she snapped. I ignored it and went on.

“In our last session, you started to address your anger and hostility toward Liz. Would you like to revisit that subject?”

“Nah,” she said.

“Alright then. How about telling me why you appeared at my door the other day and then left in such a rage?”

“I’m really not in the mood for talking today. Not about anything.”

“You say that every session. But we typically find something interesting to chat over.” I shifted slightly in my seat, trying not to be obvious about my discomfort at the question I felt gurgling in my stomach, about to come up and out of me in an uncontrollable heave. “Should we talk about my predecessor?”

“What?”

“I believe her name was Erica Davidson?” I said the name, knowing full well it was in fact my predecessor’s name. I felt a pinch of something in my gut that was in no way relief related to the good vomit of an irksome query, nor was it related to my previous feeling of sorrow for Franky's broken heart. With horror, I realized the nagging twinge was jealousy, and not because of any suspicions of Erica Davidson's clinical acumen.

“Why’d ya wanna talk about Erica?” Franky said, her face flushed with irritation.

“It’s my understanding you were quite close to her,” I tried. “What did you and Miss Davidson work on?”

“Work on?” She laughed, her mouth hanging open in a grin that was as charming as it was angry. “What’s your angle here, Gidge? You been getting dirt on me from Ferguson? Is that how this is gonna work now? Fuck.” I could see her working herself up into a seething rage, like a cornered and wild animal who is about to pounce. For a moment I wondered if I made a grave error. And in the next moment, I knew I made a grave error, but not because I was in danger of Franky physically harming me. The error was in my own clinical judgement. I hadn’t asked Franky about Davidson for any reason other than to satisfy my own selfish curiosity. The question and subject was of no relevance, and did nothing to clinically support the client I had in front of me. I needed to hit the anchors and fast. Stuff like this was going to take me someplace I had no business being. Worse, stuff like this could take me someplace where I could lose not just my job, but also my professional license.

“Franky,” I started. “I’ve upset you with my question. Sometimes it can be helpful to a therapeutic process to know what a client has worked on with a previous therapist. I apologize if my question pushed against an uncomfortable boundary.”

“Bull-fucking-shit!” She yelled, and to be honest she’d taken the words right out of my mouth. My apology was sincere, but it was couched in a load of crap. “I never fucked Erica if that’s what you wanna know. She was good to me. She cared, ya know? She believed I could accomplish something and that’s why I’m studying law now, not that it’ll ever do me any fucking good! Ya know, this is a complete waste of time. I’m done here. If you’re gonna be getting your intel from Ferguson, I might as well give up on my parole and start building my own coffin now!”

“I can assure you that is not the case. Not by a long shot.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah. I am making my own formulations regarding your progress, Franky, based on our sessions. And I think you have made some tremendous strides. I believe you have been very brave addressing your past trauma, your anger, the reasons that got you here in the first place. And much like Davidson, I also believe in you. You have tremendous ability.”

She huffed and crossed her arms over her chest, but she didn’t get up and storm out the way she would have several weeks ago. I couldn’t help but smile at this little sign of progress. “Well, don’t ever bring up Erica again,” she said. It did not escape my notice that she used the first name of her former clinician twice when referencing her, and I choked back this observation as it was not appropriate or wise to push any further down that path. “I dunno why ya’d bring her up in the first place unless you were digging around for the governor, or unless the governor had mentioned it to you and. . .” she trailed off and an impish grin spread over her face. She slapped her knees. “Aw! I see what’s happening here!” She exclaimed. She’d gone from furious to gleeful in under three minutes.

“And what’s that?”

“Aw, well, you’re eyes may be blue, Gidge, but you’re a pea green eyed monster with envy right now.” She winked at me. “Don’t worry, there’s plenty of me to go around.”

I said nothing. Eventually she stopped smiling, sniffed a little and brought her knees up to her chest in the chair.

For a while we were quiet. She looked around my office. I hadn’t bothered to do much to decorate it, and there was not much to look at. Rules were strict about decorating. No personal effects. No glass. No staples or nails or sharps of any kind. She finally looked back at me and as if reading my mind she said, “You’re not much of a interior decorator, are you? You’re office is about as Spartan as they come. I swear I’ve seen slots more exciting than this joint.”

“I don’t think the parole board is going to be much interested in your opinions on my interior decorating,” I responded. “I know they will be far more interested in what I’ve learned about your interior, Franky. Tell me, if there were a room inside of you, how would you be arranged?”

“Hah! Nice try. You should know by now that’s not the way I work.”

“Well then, let’s get into how you work. Start there.”

She stretched her legs back out, bent over and put her face in her hands, elbows on her knees. She looked so small, like a kid really. And it struck me she was a good many years younger than me. For a moment, I thought she was going to sit back up and tell me something intimate or important. But when she sat back up, she said, “Ya look tired today, Gidge. Were ya up late last night? Thinking about me?” She said it in a lower, slower voice that was more serious than her usual flirty banter.

“How have you been sleeping?” I asked, swallowing the weird egg in my throat. What I really wanted to ask her was how she did that, how she knew something about me that I didn’t even know about myself.

“I don’t sleep,” she said.

“Since when?”

“Since I came in here. Or maybe since I was a kid. Dunno. But I definitely don’t sleep in here.”

“Why not?”

“Can’t let my guard down. And then of course there are the dreams.”

“What dreams are those?’ I asked. I noticed that my hands were knitted into each other on my lap, clutching hard and fast.

“Dreams I wouldn’t wish on my worst enemy,” she sighed. To my surprise, her eyes were filling. She pinched her nose angrily to wipe it. “I wouldn’t want anyone to spend a night in my sleeping head. Or maybe if I could somehow arrange it, that would be a more effective punishment for the girls than the steam press, or a gang bang in the showers, or a shiv to the gut.”

“Those are all things you’ve done?”

“They are punishments I have meted out, yeah,” she said. “Disgust you, does it?”

“No. It makes me sad because I know that’s not the person you’d wish to be. But not disgusted.”

She shrugged. “Top dogs don’t do their own dirty work. So, I watched them being done in front of me, but it was the same as if I was doing it. This place, it’s meant to reform us, but it just makes us animals. Worse than animals. I spend the entire day holding myself together until I’m just crap, and then every night I lie awake in bed and set my insides on fire to burn it all away so I can forget. I’m scared by the time I leave here I won’t be anything more than a little handful of ash.”

Tears flowed freely down her face and she collapsed over onto herself, pulsating with sobs. I stood and picked up a box of tissue from my desk. I brought it to her and set it on the arm of her chair. I stood before her, trying to still the urge to reach out and touch her. But it was futile. My hand touched the top of her head, lightly at first and then with just a bit more pressure when I felt the warmth of her and the softness of her hair. I stood there with my hand on her head, realizing it was a type of touch I’d never bestowed on an inmate before. I felt my face twist into a scowl and thought I’d be adding some more lines to my reflection. But these ones I wouldn’t mind so much, because these lines had come from her. I’d name them after her, like constellations woven into my temple and brow.

She sat up suddenly and grabbed me around my waist, pulled me into her and continued her cry against my belly like a child. I nearly jumped as I looked around, but then sighed in relief as I realized the shades were still drawn from when I’d closed them earlier that morning. My brain mandated me to push her off, to sit back down and to reestablish appropriate balance and boundaries. But I couldn’t push Franky Doyle off of me. I rubbed the back of her neck and cradled her face against me. She clutched at me around my hips and sniffled. After a moment, she looked up at me.

“Fuck, Gidget, I’m gonna get snot and makeup all over your posh blouse.”

“I guess it’s a good thing I went with a dark color today then,” I said. I realized I was standing in between her knees, cupping her face in my hands. I rubbed my thumb over her cheekbone, not wanting to let go of her face. I looked into her eyes, willing my brain to memorize every little amber speckle among the jade. Her nose was running, but she did not take her hands off my hips to wipe at it the way she normally did. I wanted to grab a tissue and do it for her, but I didn’t.

“What’s going on here?” She asked.

“You’re having some intense and difficult emotions,” I said. “It can feel painful, but it can be a good thing to cry, to express those feelings.” Even as I said it, it didn’t feel right. It felt fraudulent. I was making the words of a therapist come out of my mouth, but I was not behaving like a therapist, not by a long shot.

“More bullshit then,” she said, but she said it softly without any trace of anger. She brought one of her hands to where one of my hands was still on her cheek. Grabbing my hand, she stood.

“Franky,” I started and I tried to take my hand from her.

“Nuh,” she whimpered. “Don’t let go. Not just yet.” Her eyes were wet and full and soft and pleading with me for impossible things. I wanted to weep with the hopelessness of it all. I willed myself to break the spell.

“I can never be anything more than your therapist, Franky,” I whispered. “I have a fiduciary responsibility to care for you. To take advantage of that in any way would be a gross violation of your rights, and of my code of ethics.”

“Then let me take advantage of you,” she whispered back and started to lean in closer to me. Her sweatshirt was unzipped and her low cut tee revealed much of her chest, including a scythe shaped scar over her left breast. It made me wince. “Come on, Gidge. I just wanna feel close to someone. I wanna feel close to you. I just wanna hold ya.”

I pulled away from her as I rolled a cup full of die in my mind. “I’m sure you have plenty of people who would be happy to be close to you, Franky. Kim perhaps?”

She threw her head back and looked at the ceiling and then back at me. “Now there’s that green eyed monster again,” she said and the edge had come back to her voice. Inwardly I cringed, but I also breathed a sigh of relief that my words had the desired effect. “Kim’s an idiot tweaker who threw her freedom away for no good reason. She could never be more to me than a distraction or a good fuck at best.”

“I seem to recall her insinuating that she broke her parole to come back here and be with you. Do you feel you’re not a good enough reason for someone?” I had mostly extricated my fingers from hers, but for the tips of our index fingers which still seemed to be touching as though held together by magnets, opposite poles pulling. She swirled the pad of her finger against mine.

“Will you ever shut up?” She said softly.

I smiled. “Now you’re just contradicting yourself. My being quiet has been cause for consternation to you in the past.” It was a clinical statement, but a part of me knew I was also teasing her, wondering how she would react to my words of confrontation. But she didn’t move her finger away from mine. Not yet. Not then.

“I’d like to know what you’re thinking, Gidge. What’s behind that stoic gaze of yours? Underneath your poker face, how’s your interior decorated?” She brought her other hand up and placed two fingers in the hollow between my sternum. “I know that there’s gotta be more going on in there, that your clean, blue stare is a front for something much darker and deeper, yeah?” My pulse raced against her fingers. We didn’t break eye contact. If fact, her words and touch so hypnotized us, neither or us even blinked.

Finally, I shifted my stance to rebalance my weight on my right leg. “Aren’t you tired of this dance yet?”

“I don’t follow.”

“Come on, Franky. You avoid your therapy by making overt sexual innuendos at me and I deflect them and redirect you back to the task at hand. It’s starting to feel exhausting for me. I can’t imagine it feels much better for you, unless you are taking some sort of sadistic pleasure in trying to manipulate me.”

She dropped her hand and looked at me sorrowfully. “I’m no sadist, Gidge. And I don’t tire easily.” I glanced at the clock. A guard would be back soon to collect her and our session would be over. She saw me looking. “Ah. Time’s almost up then.”

“It is.” I said.

She turned and took a couple steps so she could peek out the window. She swiped at her nose. “You wanna know how my guts would be decorated?” She asked while still looking out the window.

“Yes. I do.”

“It would be black. Black as the blackest night with no lights anywhere except for the stars. That might be what I miss most in here.”

“The stars?”

“Yeah.”

“Oh, Franky,” I sighed and was shocked at the sound of my voice and breath. “That sounds very peaceful.”

“Yeah.”

“Keep working with me, and we will get you there. We will get you to a place where you can go out at night whenever you want and look at the stars.”

“Working with you, eh?” She shrugged and turned around, leaned against the wall and looked at me.

“Yes, Franky. You are so close to your parole and I know you’ll make something of yourself. Something grand.”

“When I look at you, Gidge, I almost believe in it. I almost believe in it all. Cuz ya make me feel stars all over.” She had a look on her face like she was horrified by her own words, but she continued. “Don’t tell me, don’t even dare tell me you don’t feel it too!”

My hands were clutching at my stomach to stop their shaking and I didn’t even care that she was going to see the chink in my armor. “I can’t.” I whispered. Then I cleared my throat, straightened my back, and dropped my hands to my side. “It does not matter what I feel,” I managed, but the words barely made their way out. My throat was so dry.

“Matters to me,” she countered.

I smiled and shook my head with a chuckle, despite the fact I truly wanted to cry. “Now you’re just being relentless,” I said. “We need to channel that perseverance into working for parole.”

“Back to that are we?”

“Yes.” And as I uttered this last word there was a knock at the door. “Ah. That’s our time then.”

“Well, you got one thing right, Gidge. I’m nothing if not persistent. And don’t worry about it.”

“Worry about what, Franky?”

“When I get out of here and we’re home together, I’ll do all the decorating for us. I sort of have a knack for it, ya know?”

“Hah! I should have known as much,” I laughed. I didn’t know if I was relieved or devastated that she was walking toward the door.

“Get some sleep tonight, will ya? This staying up pining for me is bad for your complexion.” She quipped and with that, she was gone.

I left the shades down and took to my desk. I drank a bottle of water to hydrate myself and quench my parched throat. Writing up my progress note for this session was going to be challenging. Franky had certainly taken sexual transference to a new level, but even before I opened her chart, I knew I was not going to put that detail in her note.

And I knew that was further cause for concern.

I also knew there was a part of me, a small part of me that was getting larger by the moment, that didn’t care. That part pulsated, growing louder, like a bass line in a song I was going to want to play over and over and over.

And it was then I knew that Franky Doyle had already decorated my insides, had painted them in shades of green and blue, and hung glittering golden stars all around.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> About the author: Scarlette is a huge, overgrown fangirl, and when she ships, she ships haaaarrrddddd. Her favorite ships are Fridget, Shoot, Carol and Therese, Walstrid, and of course the original ship, MulderXScully. Thank you so sincerely for reading. I positively LIVE for comments, so please write to me and let me know what you thought. I try my best to reply to everyone. xoxo. SS.


	3. Drift On

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was inspired by a lovely photo I saw of LT in a pool. . . will probably seem slightly OOC, but go with it and it will make sense at the end. . . at least I think it will. Thank you all for your comments. I'm seriously loving this fandom, and all of you are just beauties for being so kind and generous. xoxo.

_**“If the water’s cool I might just swim.** _   
_**And if the sun shines bright, I might be here all day.** _   
_**I drift away in a sunken state, I’m busy lappin’ it up,** _   
_**I might be here all day.” — Butterfly Boucher, Drift On.** _

The splash woke me up. I’d only been half asleep anyway, but it still startled me. I rolled over and felt she’d already gotten up. Her side of the bed was cool. _Where could that little minx have gone off to this early_ , I wondered. The light was still young in the sky, and when I looked at the clock, I saw it was not yet six in the morning.

It was way too early to be up. Especially on a weekend. But I had to pee and I needed to know where she was. I threw off the covers and pulled my drowsy body over the side of the bed. I thought maybe I’d find her in the bathroom, but she wasn’t in there. I used the toilet and splashed some water on my face, then brushed my teeth. It was one of my things. Even if I were going back to bed for another couple hours, I couldn’t not brush my teeth straight away in the morning.

“Franky?”

I heard my name being called. She wasn’t in the kitchen or in the living room.

“Fraaaannnkkkyyyy. . .” Again the sound of water splashing. I walked out the sliding glass doors onto the patio and found her floating in the pool. “I didn’t wake you, did I?”

“As a matter of fact, you did. What the hell, Gidge? It’s barely six and the water must be freezing.”

“Actually, it’s lovely. Come on in.” She drew circles on the water’s surface with her hands.

“You crazy?”

“Not at all. Join me.”

“You know I don’t swim.”

“Oh, come on. We can stay in the shallow end and I’ll keep hold of you the entire time. I promise.” She swam over to the edge of the pool and I took note of her bathing attire. She had on a white, crocheted top and nothing underneath.

“What are you wearing?” I asked, suddenly more awake and grinning like a fool.

“Oh, this old thing? You like?”

“Yeah,” I said. I sat down at the edge of the pool so I could get a better look, wincing at the chilly water as I slid my ankles in, and then my calves. “Hey now, you’re not wearing anything down below! Where’s the rest of your bathing costume?”

“What are you, now, the bathing suit police? Come on in and you can do a full inspection and write me a citation for inappropriate dress.”

“Fuuuuccckkkk,” I hissed at her. “That’s dirty pool. No pun intended!” This made her laugh. Through the generous gaps in the top, I could see her very alert, rosy nipples. “Come on out now and get in the shower with me. A hot shower. Then we’ll go back to bed. Shit. What are the neighbors gonna say about this illicit activity in their respectable neighborhood?”

“There’s no neighbors. Everyone is on holiday. It’s just our happy little world and we are all alone, living happily ever after.”

“You’re absurd.”

“Absurdly in love.”

“Come on now. Get out."

“I want you to come in here,”

“But you know I don’t swim,” I whined. I didn’t mind being near water so long as I didn’t have to be in it. She swam between my legs and put her hands on my knees.

“Let me teach you,” she said. “It feels so nice to float; just to drift on. And I’m an excellent teacher.”

“Yeah, I’m sure you are a wonderful professor, and we can certainly add that role to our repertoire, but on dry land. Old dogs don’t learn new tricks, like swimming.”

“Please, Franky?” She splashed a little water at me. “At least take off your shirt for me?”

“Well when ya say please all nicey nice like that,” I mumbled and stripped off the cami I’d worn to bed. She stood, still in the pool, and wrapped her arms around my waist. “You’re cold and wet!”

“Mmm, and you’re warm,” she sighed and brought a hand down to my crotch. “And I’m guessing you’re wet too.” She pushed my knees apart a bit further and lowered her face to my black lace panties. She mumbled something against me and the vibration of her voice felt amazing but I couldn’t understand a word she said.

“What was that, now? I couldn’t understand ya with your mouth full.” I laughed.

“I said let’s take these off too.” She started to peel my underwear off of me and as I lifted my bum up to squirm out of them, she pulled me deftly into the pool.

I yelped as the cool water enveloped my body. “Gidget what the fuck?”

“Shhh, I’ve got you,” she crooned. “Hold onto me.” I wrapped my legs around her waist and she walked out deeper in the water, catching my mouth with hers as she did. I shivered and she held me tighter. “No need to be afraid, baby. I’ll never let anything bad happen to you.” Her hands cupped my ass.

“You tricked me,” I said, but I wasn’t angry. She was holding me and it felt good. I let go my death grip on her shoulders so I could find her breasts as I kissed her neck, rocking my hips against her. I lowered my head so I could get at her tight little bud of a nipple, so I could roll it between my front teeth before taking it into my mouth, but her top was getting in my way. “This needs to come off,” I said.

“Fair enough,” she agreed. _My girl, she’s an agreeable type_ , I thought to myself, grinning still. “You’ll have to let go for a moment.”

“Nuh.”

“Franky, it’s shallow here. Look. I can stand and you are a good five inches taller than me. Put your feet down and touch the ground.”

“I don’t wanna.”

“Trust me.” She moved over to the side of the pool, carrying me in her arms like I was a child. “Now then my petulant little koala. Here, hold on to the side. It’s okay.” She kissed my chin to encourage me.

I unraveled one leg from around her waist and tentatively reached it down to the bottom of the pool. It touched easily. I stood and the water was shallow enough that my torso was out in the air. I felt only slightly foolish, and I still clung to the side of the pool, but my heart started to feel calmer. She raised her eyebrows as if to say “See, I told ya,” and she took a step away so I could admire the full effect of her stripping off the wet top. She plopped it on the patio in a squelchy heap.

“You’re fucking hot,” I said.

“So are you,” she returned.

“Get back over here,” I demanded. She came to me and this time, she straddled my hips, wrapping her legs around my waist. I was able to lean back against the side and put my arms all around her tiny, slippery body. “I fucking love you,” I whispered as our breasts rubbed against each other, hard nipples colliding and sending shocks of ecstasy all over.

“And I fucking love you,” she replied, as I knew she would. “I love your minty, morning mouth,” she whispered and kissed me long and deep. She arched her back so she could rub against me and I brought my hand to the small of her spine to grant her purchase. She threw her head back and I bit at her neck. “Inside,” she gasped as she pulsated against me. “I need you inside me. Now. Now!”

“But if I let go I could drown,” I whimpered wanting to satisfy her, but feeling scared at the same time.

“Then drown in me,” she moaned. “Drown in me, baby.” That was all it took. She called me _baby_ and I’d deny her nothing. Through the veil of cold water, I found her hot slit and before I could even do anything fancy she planted my fingers squarely inside of her. A high pitched sound from the back of her throat made my ears ring. She rode my fingers, clenching around me. We undulated in the water.

“Damn Gidge, you’re fast this morning,” I whispered in her ear before biting her neck in that spot I knew made her see stars. I could feel her working up to an enthusiastic finish.

“You’re next, baby,” she said breathlessly.

“Mmmh, I like the sound of that, but I want mine in bed,” I laughed. “What I want from you needs a firmer surface.”

“Oh, fuck, Franky!” She gasped and brought both of her hands to my neck. She pressed her forehead against mine. Her eyes were open and she was breathing in hard, hot, little puffs against me as she chanted my name over and over, “Franky. Franky!” I closed my eyes against her and gave in to the sensation of her quivering around my fingers in gentle waves.

“Franky! Franky!”

My eyes snapped open.

Boomer’s flushed face filled the window of the door of my gray cell. I rubbed my eyes and sat up. “Shit,” I hissed, searching for my bearings. Boomer opened the door to my cell and trundled in. “Where’s the fire Booms?”

“Were you sleeping?”

“Well that’s what people usually do in their beds, isn’t it?”

“Oh, yeah, right,” she smiled. “It’s just that Jess is bein’ shitty with Liz again and I reckon she needs to be taught a lesson, but Doreen won’t let me.”

“Well what you want me to do?” She raised her eyebrows, wanting my permission, but I had this weird feeling in my body. It was that feeling you get like after you spend the day at the beach, or on a boat, and you can still feel yourself drifting on the water, like it’s supporting your weight even as you walk around on solid ground again. “Get out of here. And don’t touch anyone, Booms!” She huffed and walked out.

I flopped back on my pillow, arms out by my sides. I closed my eyes, and took a deep breath, like I was going to try to teach myself to float.


	4. Not Yet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An in depth glimpse of what might have transpired between Bridget and Franky as their bond grew and lines were crossed. . .

_**“And we’re moving slow** _   
_**Our hearts beat so fast** _   
_**I’ve been dreaming, dreaming ‘bout you** _   
_**‘Bout us. . .” — Wankelmut &Emma Louise, My Head is a Jungle** _

I found her in the kitchen after lunch service. The other inmates were filtering out, but she was staring at a clipboard, making notes with a pencil.

“Hey there,” I said. She looked up and her smile was instantaneous. I felt it ripple through me like a quickening.

“Hey yourself,” she said and put down her implements. “Kitchen is closed, but if you like I could whip you up something. A seared ahi tuna with black sticky rice and a plum tartlet for dessert? Or would you prefer to hear my vegan offerings this evening.”

“That’s very kind,” I smiled. I’ve had my lunch, thank you.”

“Don’t say I didn’t offer,” she winked. “What brings you to the belly of the beast, then?” She wore her long, stained apron unapologetically over a tank top that didn’t quite cover her gray bra straps. Her bare arms gave me full vantage of the creamy skin of her left arm and the vibrant ink on her right. Her hair was pulled back by her chef’s scarf, and seeing her bare forehead made her seem smaller and more vulnerable than when she had it covered by her dark fringe.

“Franky,” I began. “I felt badly about our session yesterday and I wanted to apologize. As I am certain you are aware by now, that is not typically how my sessions go.” I remembered my hand on her head, my thumb on her cheek, the look of longing in her eyes. _Don’t even dare tell me you don’t feel it too!_

“Yeah, well, I’m not your typical patient am I?”

“No. You are not.” I laughed, shifting my weight from one leg to another. “Even still, it is my responsibility to keep a lid on things, and I felt I did a rather poor job of it yesterday.”

“ _Rather poor_?” She chortled, bending over onto her knees and then popping back up with a dazzling and ironic smile.

“Yes, well,” I began. “I am hoping it didn’t put you off your therapy, that you’ll still attend your sessions.”

“Oh, I’ll be attending sessions alright,” she said decisively.

“Yeah?”

“Heck yeah! And don’t act so surprised, Gidge. The sooner I get out of here, the sooner I can stop being your patient and ravage you properly.”

“I’m thinking that is not the best therapeutic motivation, Franky.”

“I’ve always found arousal to be a very good motivator,” she stated simply and puffed her lips out at me in an adorable pout.

“Well, we can get into that when you come in this afternoon,” I managed. “You are going to come?” As the words left my lips, I realized yet again how carefully I needed to chose them around Franky Doyle. Mouth closed and eyes wide, she smiled at me. “To your session,” I quickly added, hoping she hadn’t noticed the flush blooming over my décolletage. To my relief, she rolled her eyes and let go of the innuendo.

“Seriously though, what kind of hocus pocus voodoo freaky shit did you do to me?”

“What on earth are you talking about?” I asked, not certain if she was angry or joking.

“I mean I actually slept last night. Well for a couple hours this morning anyway. And I had a dream.”

“Oh, Franky,” I sighed. “I’m sorry. Sometimes talking about difficult things can activate our subconscious and can make us psychoactive in our sleep. I never would have intended for you to have nightmares as a result of our sessions, although it can be a side effect of therapy.”

“Nup,” she said and grinned. “Wasn’t a nightmare at all. Actually was quite the sweet dream. And you were in it.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah.”

“Would you like to tell me about it?” I offered.

“Why don’t you come over here?” She raised an eyebrow, inviting me closer.

I took a step nearer to her, drawn as though by invisible undercurrent, then looked to see where the camera was. It was pointed toward another countertop, but near enough it made me uncomfortable. She saw my hesitation and rolled her eyes. She grabbed a broom and, like a chivalrous knight with her trusted sword, used the handle to stab the camera so it pointed off into a corner. Smiling, as though proud of her noble conquest, she looked back at me. “Problem solved,” she whispered. “Screws won’t notice camera is wonky for a few minutes anyway, and then it takes another few minutes for them to decide to do anything about it and get their asses down here. Gives us a good ten minutes, I’d reckon, of quality time.”

I took another step in her direction. She closed the gap between us and her hand flickered toward mine. “You’re something, you know that?” I croaked.

“Oh I know, but you don’t know the half of it,” she said softly and brought her face close enough to mine that I could feel her breath on my cheek as I turned away from her. “Not yet anyway.”

“I can’t,” I whispered.

“It’s okay,” she said and laced her fingers into mine.

“I can’t,” I repeated.

“Yeah. I got that,” she said and squeezed my hand. Her breath had a sweetness to it, like tea with loads of sugar and under that the subtle earthiness of onion, sage, parsley, salt. Intoxicated, I lowered my face to the crook of her neck and inhaled the small patch of skin exposed above her shoulder and found she smelled like butter and vanilla in the mixing bowl of a cake batter. Our bodies were close, not touching but for our hands. She brought her other hand to my hip, offering a gentle but persuasive touch. My eyes had closed, and deprived of my vision, every other sense was working overtime to soak up every ounce of her. Her breath on my cheek and in my ears had sped up and I realized mine was the same, in perfect attunement to hers. There was nothing else but her, her breath, her scent, her hand in mine, her hand on my hip, her heat flowing against me until I felt I’d melt with her into the the kitchen floor.

The kitchen floor.

It hit me.

I was in Wentworth and I was holding hands with an inmate. At any moment, Ferguson or Bennet or any of the other guards could walk in on us. Or another inmate could find us. This wasn’t like that ambiguous conversation in the library stacks. There would be no mistaking what was transpiring between this inmate and myself. My eyes snapped open and I stepped back. The look of hurt and rejection that tinted her features jabbed pins into my nail beds. “Franky,” I began softly.

“Nuh,” she said. “I get it.”

“Do you?” I asked hopefully, longing for understanding and absolution.

“Sure. I could never be that to you. I could never be more than a foray to the other side of the tracks. Ladies like you, they flirt with girls like me, but it doesn’t go much farther than that. Been here before, Gidge.”

“No,” I gasped in horror. “No no no! That’s not it at all.”

“Whatever. Certainly isn’t the first time.” She turned back to the counter, grabbed a rag and started to wipe down the stainless steel surface.

“Please don’t withdraw,” I said, shivering from the sudden absence of her body pursuing mine with its heat.

“Or what? You gonna write a bad letter to the parole board? You gonna try to prod me from another angle?”

“Nuh. Nothing like that at all. I do not have any ultimatums and I would never threaten you. I know that asking you to trust is asking you to do something completely foreign and uncomfortable.”

“Then why would ya ask such a thing?” She threw the rag into a bin on the other side of the counter.

I considered her question and decided to give her the courtesy of my honest answer. “I guess,” I began and cleared my throat. “Well, I guess I’m asking for myself. I don’t want you to go away.”

“Don’t want me to go away?” She said, meeting my honesty with what seemed like perturbation. “Where the fuck do you think I’m gonna go exactly?” She spread her arms open in front of her in a gesture I was beginning to recognize as one of her own.

“I’m sorry,” I said. “It was a poor choice of words. I guess I just want you to feel like you can be real with me.”

She wiped her hands down the front of her apron in a motion that was heart wrenchingly child like. “I’ve been realer with you than I have been with anyone ever,” she said. “And I don’t even know anything about ya, other than you’ve got real soft hands and can be quiet for long periods of time.”

“What is it you want to know?” I laughed, relieved by what seemed like her forgiveness.

“Everything.”

“We won’t have time for everything before the guards realize you’ve shifted the cameras.”

“Fucking screws always killing my lady boner,” she spat. “Cats or dogs?”

“What?”

“Which do you prefer? Cats or dogs?”

“Definitely dogs.”

“Good call. Cats are definitely shifty little buggers. You married?”

“No.”

“Girlfriend then?” She looked at me from under her lashes.

“Not at the moment,” I answered. She stepped up to me.

“And what about at this moment now?” She put her hands gingerly on my waist.

“Franky,” I sighed in what I hoped was a warning rather than inviting manner.

“Yeah, yeah,” she said. She brought her hands up and caressed the sides of my face, tucked my hair behind my ears. Truthfully, my entire body felt blissfully sedated by her touch.

“We should not be crossing certain lines,” I said awkwardly.

“And yet, we both know you’ve already crossed it. And you like it on this side of the line.”

“Yes,” I whispered. I stood stock still, noting the sense of easy comfort she elicited and then flooding with cognitive dissonance at the realization this was a convicted felon, a woman who had done tremendous violence, and yet here she was, touching me with delicate tenderness that felt entirely genuine. Would it have even been possible for Franky to be anything other than entirely genuine? Her touch had a dreamlike quality to it.

Like a dream.

A dream.

“Were you going to tell me about your dream?” I asked, dragging myself from my stupor. But my words did not break the spell, not truly, as her hands drifted to my neck, ghosting over my flesh.

“We were living together. Happily ever after is what you said in the dream. And we had a pool. Thing is, in my dream I was terrified of the water, but you were in there half naked, splashing around like a chipper mermaid or something and I couldn’t resist you.”

“Then what?”

“You pulled me in and had your way with me.”

“Sounds very sensual.”

“Yeah, but Boomer woke me up before I could finish,” she said. “Aw, come on, don’t wrinkle your brow at me. You’re gonna crease up your pretty face. You asked me to tell ya, so I did.”

“So, in your waking life, are you afraid of the water?”

“Nup. I love it. I got onto the swim team in school and everything, but before I could compete I got moved to another foster home in a district where they didn’t have swim at school.”

“You know, I thought I had you pegged, but I’m beginning to think you might never cease to surprise me, Franky.”

“Ah, it’s just another aspect of my charm then,” she grinned.

“That it is,” I sighed, shaking my head incredulously.

“So, tell me something else, Gidget. Are you this charmed by all your patients?” Her eyes held an innocent vulnerability, despite their heavy coating of black liner and shadow. I recalled the smudge and shimmer she left on my clothes when she clung to me in her crying spell, how I had held the garments and considered them for a time that bordered on pathological before deciding not to toss them into the pile of things to go to the cleaners. No. I had folded and placed them in a neat pile on the bench at the end of my bed. I had picked them up and considered them again, really stared into the stains she’d left like a fortune teller might stare into an empty cup, searching for a message among tea leaves.

All this time, my hands had been at my sides, but in her simple question, I knew there was an inquiry to something far more complex. A need far greater than her desire. I lifted one of my hands and cupped her elbow with it, as though gathering a little bird. Something tiny. Something wild. Something that could fly away or turn on me in less than an instant. “Well?” She was waiting for my reply. I ran my fingertips over the supple skin covering the hard bone of her elbow. I’d a vague recollection of learning the elbow strike can be as effective as a hammer in self defense, but it was impossible to imagine this elbow in my palm ever doing me any harm.

“There is something special about you, Franky Doyle,” I said. I considered my words and added, “That is, I see something very special in you.” I managed to answer her question, and yet there seemed so much more I wanted to say, but didn’t dare. Not yet.

She seemed satisfied with my answer, and I was doubly relieved as I heard Vera calling out from the dining room. “Is anyone back here? Doyle are you still in the kitchen?” Franky exhaled in an overly annoyed huff and stepped quickly away from me. Somehow the clipboard and pencil had made their way back into her hands before Vera reached the kitchen. “Ms. Westfall? What are you doing here?’ Her voice was filled with suspicion.

“I was just confirming my appointment with Doyle,” I responded, praying my voice had the calm I was willing it to have.

“And what brings you to the kitchen? Feeling peckish?” Franky said.

“Something is wrong with the CCTV down here,” Vera said, pursing her lips into an unattractive frown. “You wouldn’t know anything about that, would you Doyle?”

“Me? No. I wouldn’t,” Franky said. “Probably was one of those slags mucking around with the mop I reckon.”

“You’ll want to keep a closer eye on things, Doyle, if you want to keep your position as kitchen manager. Are we clear?”

“Crystal,” Franky replied. Her features had gone stoney and I sensed the rage and humiliation she felt at the Deputy Governor dressing her down in front of me. I felt it with her, along with confusion regarding how we had just stood as equals, and only moments later were back to being on totally different levels of existence. Had I the power, I’d have spared her those vicious feelings altogether, absorbed them into my own flesh like a beating. At the very least, I wanted to hold her, to tell her not to worry about it. But of course, I hadn’t power to do any of that. Not yet.

I straightened my jacket and said, “See you at three then, Franky?”

“Yup,” she said and winked at me. Vera looked like she was about to begin another verbal lashing the moment I left.

“Walk back with me?” I asked her, knowing she could hardly refuse. And so I swept her out of the kitchen, like a spider, with me, away from Franky. It was the least I could do.


	5. Evidence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Franky considers evidence in favor of Bridget's affection toward her. . . 
> 
> This may be the last chapter for a while as my life is about to get pretty uh, lifey for a bit. . . As ever, I appreciate your comments so very, very much and love every little bit of insight you share with me. Thank you so much for your gracious welcoming of me into this fandom!! xoxoxo...

Franky never played with flowers. She knew girls who did. Once upon a time, before culinary school or Pennisi or prison, she knew girls who played with flowers. Girls who plucked them out of their earthen homes so they could tear away at the petals. _Taunted_ would be a more accurate word for what they did. Confessing and praying over those frowsy, little, bowed heads prior to plucking all their being away. You might even call it _torture_.

_Loves me. Loves me not. Loves me. Loves me not._

Seemed some silly ass shit to Franky. Not to mention a violent end to a flower, all in the name of love- well, at least in the name of attempting to foretell love.

Most of the foster homes she’d been in didn’t have gardens. Even if they did, she wouldn’t have been drawn to the bright colors, the flashy buds and lush greenery. She had other things to focus on. Things like staying alive. Or like not getting bashed every day of the week. Or like not allowing that dickhead perv the state called a foster dad to grope her after his asshat girl had passed out drunk on the couch.

Flowers were showy things of the sun. Franky existed in shadows. When she was fourteen, she took a small sum of cash she’d pinched from a bowl atop one of her foster mum’s dressers and went to the nearest shop. She bought the least expensive and darkest pot of eyeshadow she could find. She smeared it on her lids with her inexpert fingers. The kids at school mocked her, said she looked scary. Franky snarled at them and later smiled at herself in the mirror. _Mission accomplished_. They kept their distance.

She wove herself with the fibers of darkness until no body could tell where one ended and the other began. And that was how she liked it. That was how she needed it. Blending in with obscurity, she fancied herself nocturnal. A bat. A fox. A bandicoot. A badger. Small, fast, clever creatures with claws and sharp teeth that could dig and hide, attack, and slip into tiny spaces in the pause between heartbeats.

Other girls were tittering over boys and tearing flowers to shreds in desperate attempts to see their futures, but she was still in the shadows. They pranced around on the stage, vying for the spotlight and she hung back in the wings, memorizing their scripts like an understudy so she could swoop in and steal their boyfriends before anyone even noticed. She took Dougie Macalister right out from under Cindy Gregory’s nose. But she didn’t enjoy it. No. She did it to get Cindy’s attention. She got Cindy’s attention and a black eye.

It was yet another article of evidence that she was a miserable failure.

She didn’t need a fucking flower to tell her that.

She didn’t need a flower to rub her ineptitude in her fucking face.

She was fierce, but she was warm blooded, after all.

What could Westfall possibly see in her?

_Nothing._

Westfall wasn’t a Cindy. Neither was she a Franky. She was something else altogether. Westfall was _a different animal_ , as they say. Something sleek and evolved to be intelligent. A spinner dolphin, perhaps. What on this earth, or any other, could a graceful spinner dolphin ever find alluring about a bandicoot?

The answer was nothing.

And yet. . .

The body of evidence pointed to the contrary.

There was the way Westfall found Franky in the exercise yard to confirm their appointment after she’d convinced Vinegar Tits to clear her verbal assault charge. And then the way she looked away and blushed when Franky asked if she wanted to get into more than just her mind. The fearless and abiding way she sat through the swearing and raging and insulting and crying. The cool, blue belief behind her bright irises. The way she expressed concern when she felt she’d pushed Franky too hard in their sessions. The way she seemed worried when the fresh spiral of ink on Franky’s forearm seemed red and raw and painful. The way she seemed to sense Franky’s pain at every turn whether physical or emotional.

There was the way she urged Franky toward silence to protect her in the Meg Jackson matter.

There were other things too. Other items Franky noted in her catalogue of evidence. The flush that crept up Bridget’s pale neck like roses creeping up a white trellis whenever Franky made one of her goofy advances. The way she smiled when Franky entered the room. The way she crossed her legs and seemed to squeeze them when Franky stood up from her seat. The way she didn’t flinch when Franky touched her, didn’t push Franky away, didn’t recoil in fear or disgust.

There was the glance of consternation, the bite of her lower lip, the set of her perfect jaw bone as she tried to hide what seemed like displeasure and envy when Kim hugged Franky during her admission, catching Bridget totally unaware. The way Bridget had snipped that there was work to be done and closed the door to Franky. Then after she’d seen Franky and Kim together, there was the fresh application of lipstick she’d applied prior to Franky’s session.

And there were the other things, the intangible thoughts and feelings Franky found in the company of her psychologist. Things like, _I’m safe with her_ , and _she really cares_ , and _she believes in me and she fills me with hope_.

How could she ever imagine a future with this luminous creature? What sort of hubris could create such a ludicrous fantasy?

And yet. . . there was a compelling nature to her case. _Wasn’t there?_ The facts stood for themselves. _Didn’t they?_

As she marched in from her airing, she passed by Liz and Doreen’s raised beds. She plucked some sort of daisy-looking thing out of the soil and crumpled it in her palm so no one would notice her holding it as she filed back into the prison.

Back in her cell she closed the door. She flung herself onto her bed and studied the flower. It had wilted slightly in her folded hand. The white petals had pinkish veins in them. She didn’t know its name, but it was something pretty probably. Something to name a little girl who would be loved and have birthday parties with a rainbow of balloons and mountain of glossily wrapped gifts. Her palm was vaguely dirty from the soil the bloom had so recently called home. She lifted the flower to her nose and inhaled the subtle fragrance. She ran it over her lips and cheek and found it felt warm and pulpy from the sun and from her own body.

Then she sighed, shrugged and began the evisceration.

Petal by petal.

_She loves me. She loves me not. She loves me._

There was a meditative peace to the rhythm of it as her fingers did something they had never before done. And she figured she’d easily do it a hundred times if it would guarantee her case, give her the verdict she so desired.

_She loves me not. . ._

_She loves me._


	6. Best Interest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hello lovelies! Thank you so very much for reading and for your lovely comments. They are keeping me going! This chapter diverges a bit from canon, so hopefully you still like. It is rated E for mature themes involving Bridget in a tub. (Srsly, someone may need to stage an intervention for me and Bridget in water, it's gotten to be a thing...) xoxoxo.

_**“Biting in the dark, I might break your heart** _   
_**I can get you high if you wanna climb** _   
_**‘Cause fuck leaving alone, let me take you home. . .** _   
_**I wanna take you home. . .” — Special Affair, The Internet** _

Wine sloshed into the goblet. Bridget considered the crimson liquid momentarily before lifting it to her lips. She drained half the glass in one, long sip then filled it back to the top.

There was not even a question of doing the small stack of dishes tonight. She rubbed her forehead wearily as she looked away from the sink. _They’ll keep_ , she thought with a sigh.

After all, Bridget suddenly had loads of time to spare. Glass in hand, she sought the solace of her bedroom.

Exhaustion consumed every ounce of her body as if she had the flu. But she didn’t have the flu. And it wasn’t really exhaustion.

 _Lies_ , she thought as she kicked off her heels. She padded over to her bed and set the glass of wine on the night stand. She stripped off her top and trousers, as though she could remove the foul toxicity of the day. She cast them into the pile of garments to send to the cleaners, then perched on the edge of the bed in her bra and undies, imagining she could just reach up and pull a cord to release a harsh stream of sanitizing fluid over her. _Even then, would it help? Probably not._

 _I’m not shaking_ , she told herself. _I refuse to shake_. She put her hands out in front of her and watched them flutter like leaves.

And then, _more lies_.

She wasn’t exhausted at all. She was wide awake and surging with stress hormones that were making her entire body buzz as though it were filled with bees. She probably could have gone and run a marathon or played a few matches of cricket with all the adrenaline flooding her system. The horrible drain of energy was not the flu, or even that she hadn’t slept in a couple nights. It was grief.

It was grief.

And loss.

She picked up her glass and held it for a few long moments before she brought it to her lips and drank. The spicy bite of shiraz caressed her tongue and throat in a lovely way, but she barely even noticed. She held the glass for another moment by its stem, then let the bulb fit into her palm. The glass was thick and had a nice weight to it. She held it in place of other things she could not hold. She connected wine and mouth again, trying to blur the jagged edges of the day, trying to stop the quivering in her muscles.

Ferguson had threatened Franky’s parole. More than that, Ferguson had threatened Franky. Full stop. The message had been implicit. _If you stay, Miss Westfall, one never knows what might happen, what accidents might befall certain inmates while they are cooking in the kitchen._

The words had each been individually punctuated, hammer to nail. There had been no other option but to toss her small assortment of personal effects into a box and tender her resignation, effective immediately. She signed the document the Freak foisted on her because it was an insurance policy for Franky’s safety. She’d find another job. She’d never find another Franky.

“This is in your best interest,” she had told Franky when she had discontinued their sessions earlier in the week. Of course Franky had not seen it that way. Bridget had scripted the session in her head, had planned for contingencies, yet she still hadn’t been prepared for Franky walking out of her office like she did, on her own terms, like she didn’t care, like she didn’t need or want Bridget at all. She’d let Franky go, knowing it was what Franky needed to feel dignity and control. Knowing that Franky had done what she needed helped Bridget manage just a little bit better. Anyway, at the end of the day, it wasn’t about Bridget.

Except that it was.

She’d gotten her feelings all tangled up in Franky Doyle, compromising herself, her career, and possibly Franky’s mental and physical safety as well. Of course she’d tried her damnedest to explain it to Franky, to make amends even.

“So what? You’re in love with me?” Franky had asked her, eyes wide and searching.

“No,” Bridget had answered. And then Bridget had walked out the door on _her_ own terms, refusing to answer Franky’s final question, because that was what _she_ had needed to do to maintain _her_ dignity. And dignified she was, all the way to the Staff toilet, where she collapsed into a silent fit of sobs. And she knew then, leaning up against the metal of the paper towel dispenser, trying to cool her flaming face, that she had lied. She was, in fact, in love with Franky and she hadn’t a clue how it had happened or why or what she was going to do.

At the time, she didn’t know which was worse- realizing she was in love, or having lied to Franky about it.

Didn’t even matter now. Ferguson the Freak had come between them, pushing the literal envelope of Bridget’s resignation at her and forcing her to abandon ship. So now she was torn between the harsh reality of fearing for her love’s safety, and knowing that her love hadn’t a clue what the reality actually was. In all of the scenarios Bridget had played out in her mind, this was one impossible and unmitigated disaster for which she had not accounted.

She rolled her eyes, trying to keep the tears from flowing onto her cheeks and when she exhaled, it was a broken whimper. Realizing there was no one watching, she allowed the tears to come, then swiped at them angrily with her fingers.

“What are you doing right now, Franky?” She asked her wine, mostly to comfort herself with the sound of Franky’s name in her mouth. She tried to imagine Franky doing something cheerful and entertaining, but came up only with the glare of hurt and anger Franky had given her as she’d slunk out of the prison, box in hand.

“So, now you’re just leaving me, Gidge?” She’d asked through the fence.

“Get back, Doyle,” Vera had snapped. Franky didn’t listen. She stood there, staring at Bridget.

“Is this for real? What about my parole? Are you fucking for real right now?” She’d yelled. Bridget had looked at her helplessly, uncertain if there were any words she could offer.

“It will all be okay,” was all she had managed.

“You can’t just fucking leave me,” Franky had hissed, aware but uncaring that the entire prison yard had turned to watch the scene. “If you walk out those gates you’re no fucking better than the Freak.”

“Franky,” Bridget had begun, wanting to find some way to explain and to warn.

“Doyle!” Vera snapped. “Get away from the gate or I will have you slotted. Keep walking Miss Westfall.” Bridget took a couple steps further and looked back again at Franky.

“I will never fucking forgive you for this,” Franky whispered and then turned and walked off pulling her hood up over her head as she went.

It was bad enough Bridget had to stop their sessions, but the fact she was abandoning the building all together was the ultimate betrayal. Franky had trusted her, had been so vulnerable. She had followed Bridget into deep seas. There would be no chart in Franky’s mind for navigating these dangerous waters now that she believed Bridget had left her marooned in the middle of nowhere.

Franky didn’t know, couldn’t have possibly have known, that Bridget had carried her out of the prison with her. Franky didn’t know there was likely no where on this planet where she wouldn’t be with Bridget now. She hadn’t a clue that for Bridget, the world was infinitely different at a molecular level because she had been altered by Franky’s touch, even in its most innocent and simple presentation. Bridget believed in the hard science behind psychology, and was never attracted to fringe theories, but as she exhaled Franky’s name in a sad sigh, she hoped with all her heart and soul that somehow Franky had some sort of sixth sense and could feel that Bridget was with her, that they were one.

It was too early for bed and the chatter of television would have been torture. She’d no attention span for a book. There was no one she could call and talk to about this precarious predicament. Bridget ran a bath. While the tub filled with fragrant, steaming water she dashed back to the kitchen to procure the bottle she had started. She set bottle and glass on the edge of the tub, slipped out of her underwear, and climbed in, submerging herself to her chin. The wine and water relaxed her. Her mind wandered.

What would it be like to go to a vineyard with Franky? What would it be like to meander amongst grapevines, sample wines and get all soft and hazy with one another? What would they talk about? Who would Franky be on the other side of the gate? Would Bridget continue to carry any allure at all for Franky, or would she find amusement in an endless line of gorgeous babes waiting for her? She was a bit of a celebrity after all. Franky would no doubt be much more enchanted by the promise of excitement and noise in a night club than in a quiet vineyard afternoon with Bridget.

It was doubtful Franky would even be interested in Bridget. Or that she drank wine. She was probably more of a vodka kind of girl.

Still, it was so easy for Bridget to slip her hand into Franky’s and lead her down a path, inhaling the sticky and delicious aroma of grapes. It was perfectly natural to stand on her tiptoes so her lips could meet Franky’s. It was effortless, utterly effortless, to lead Franky further along until they found someplace quiet and secluded where they could stretch out on the grass, weaving their bodies together in the sun. Bridget leaned back against the tub and closed her eyes as she thought about the two of them lying in late day light, kissing one another with progressing intensity.

She stroked her ribs under the water, imagining her hand slipping under Franky’s shirt and caressing her waist and hip and stomach. The bath water sloshed at the edges of the tub as Bridget responded to her own touch and thoughts of Franky. Her hand worked its way up to Franky’s breast, cupped it gently over her thin bra. How often had Bridget secretly admired the perky mounds of Franky’s breasts, snug in her tank top? To finally touch them, to finally hold the supple flesh as their kiss deepened was almost more than Bridget could bear. She pinched her nipple as she bit Franky’s neck. Oh, Franky liked that. The pleasure in pain. Bridget smiled as her other hand snaked in between her thighs. She rolled on top of Franky and used her body weight to press her hand hard against Franky’s crotch, continuing to kiss and bite and lick the tendon in Franky’s neck. It made her crazy with desire and she groaned as she bucked her hips up against her hand.

“I want you so fucking bad,” Bridget whispered, her breath hot against Franky’s neck.

“Well go on and fucking take me then,” Franky said. “What are ya waiting for? An engraved invitation?” They laughed against each other’s lips and Bridget unbuttoned Franky’s jeans, pulled them open so she could slip her hand down into her panties where she found her dripping wet and ready for her fingers to slide easily over and in. Franky groaned and rotated her hips to the rhythm Bridget set, but it wasn’t enough for Bridget. She extracted her hands from Franky so she could grab at the edges of her jeans and pull them, and her panties down over her hips. “Aw fuck, Gidge!”

“That’s right, baby. I’ve gotta taste you,” Bridget growled, lowering her face to consume her love. She rubbed Franky’s clit with her tongue, gentle at first and then sucking and nipping with increasing enthusiasm. Franky knitted her fingers into Bridget’s hair, pulling and pushing in tempo with her frantic hips. Bridget ran her teeth over the engorged bud, feeling it pulsate and wanting to tease Franky forever and bring her straight over the edge all at once. “I love you,” she purred as she slipped her fingers inside and flicked her inner wall. “I fucking love you. I love you and I’ll never ever leave you, baby. Come for me. Oh Franky. Now! I love you, I love you, Iloveyouuu!”

Bridget opened her eyes as her own pulsations continued against her own fingers. There. She’d been honest with herself. Now all she needed to do was to find some way to be honest with Franky. She pulled her fingers out and looked around, gathering her bearings. Water had splashed out of the bath, probably from Bridget’s thighs hitting the sides of the tub as she rode out her fantasy.

Loneliness hit her harder than a sledgehammer. Her orgasm had helped quell the anxiety and neutralized some of the adrenaline, but it did nothing to help the desolation that had settled deep within her heart. She closed her eyes, willing herself back to the vineyard, back into Franky's arms so they could bask in lazy, semi-drunk cuddles. But it was no use. She was alone, in her house, in her tub. Alone. 

She submerged her head under the water, held her breath until she saw stars, and then popped back up to gasp for air.

That was it! She knew how she was going to make it up to Franky.


	7. Stars

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which we discover strange things can happen at night in a prison. . . thank you all sooooo very much for reading. I really, really hope you enjoy this chapter cuz I loved writing it for you. xoxo.

_**“And the sky was made of amethyst** _   
_**And all the stars were just like little fish** _   
_**You should learn when to go** _   
_**You should learn how to say no. . .** _   
_**Might last a day, yeah. . . mine is forever. . . “ Violet, Hole.** _

__

Bad things happened when guards came to your cell in the middle of the night. Anyone could tell you that. Especially since Ferguson had been there. Things had gotten stranger. Scarier. There was an air of desperation among the girls. Maybe they were cranky from being cut down on their methadone without any warning, or maybe they were just straight pissy because the gear had dried up. Or maybe people were anxious about shit that went bump in the night. Shit like guards dragging you out of your cell and not telling you why or where they were taking you.

When I’d started talking with Gidget, I thought maybe I’d start sleeping again. There was a momentary peace of mind because I thought she understood me. Nah, it wasn’t just that she understood me, it was that I thought she accepted me. But then she heard it all. I opened my big, fucking hole and it all came gushing out of me like a flood. The whole truth of me and what I’d done. _Meg fucking Jackson_.

Westfall had told me she was going to help me stop self-sabotaging and live better, but what did she do? She tricked me into sabotaging the one of the two things I really wanted. She got me to open up and I sent Bridget Westfall packing straight away.

I reckoned I couldn’t really blame her. What reasonable chick in her right mind would want to stick around for the giant cluster fuck that was Franky fucking Doyle? Gidge was a smart woman, very much in her right mind. It made sense she wanted to get as far away from me as humanly possible. And anyway, she deserved better. She deserved a nice lady with a nice job who drove a nice car and could give her all the nice things in life. Things like bracelets and fancy bottles of perfume for no other reason than just because. She deserved the sort of lady who would randomly bring her home flowers or books of poems. If she even liked that stuff. I guess I didn’t even know what she would like, but the point was she deserved better than an ex-crim could provide for her.

I suppose if you care about someone you want nice shit for them. Part of me wanted nice shit for Westfall. But there were other parts of me that wanted other things.

I reckon I shouldn’t have been surprised, but still I was fucking mad she pulled the wool over my eyes. Maybe it was anger keeping me up again, then. Or maybe it was fear and paranoia that my parole was fucked and she wasn’t going to write a proper report for me now she was gone. Either way, I was wide awake when I heard the gate open, and I heard the footsteps. They stopped outside my cell. I sat up just in time for the door to swing open.

“Oi! What the fuck?”

“Get up, Doyle, and come with me.” It was Smiles, who I guess was the least threatening of the guards. I mean, they didn’t nickname her _Smiles_ because she was a total cunt. But it wasn’t the guards who worried me. I was worried about to whomever she was taking me.

“And where do you think you’re dragging me in the middle of the night?”

“What do you reckon?” She looked at me wryly. “I’ve got a hot date lined up for you. You wanna put on some pants?”

I pulled my pants over my hips and grabbed my hoodie as well, cursing under my breath I’d given my shiv to Boomer to hold onto. I’d been offloading anything that would get me into trouble in a ramp, on the chance it’d affect my parole. Now that I didn’t have Westfall backing me up, I had to keep all my ducks in a row.

“Let’s get a move on, Doyle. I don’t have all night.”

“Aw, Smiles, it’s nice to tell a gal where you’re taking her,” I tried as she pushed me out of the unit. We walked down the corridor and around a corner.

“Don’t you like surprises?” She was enjoying herself. I took a deep breath as she led me into a stairwell and we started up. We’d never been on the best of terms, but I found it hard to imagine she was happy about leading me to a lynching in the middle of the night. I looked around, realizing this was territory in which I’d never been. I didn’t even know where these stairs led. My brain whirled like a turtle on its back, trying to focus, trying to plan. I could turn around and try to attack her, but I didn’t want to hurt Officer Miles, and that wouldn’t get me back to my unit anyway. There was no turn I could take that wouldn’t fuck my parole at this point. _Like I told ya, Gidge_ , I thought. _I’m gonna be stuck in here for life or leaving in a bodybag_.

“Fuck,” I hissed as we went up another flight, I needed to buy some time. I paused to turn around and look at her. “Hey, Miles. I’ve got a shit ton of extra cash in my special spend. You can have it all if you just tell me where you’re taking me.” She crossed her arms over her chest and stared at me with that blank bored expression. The term _twat waffle_ came to mind, but instead I started to beg, “Give me a little time to prepare for whatever the fuck this is. I’ll be in your debt. . . anything you want, just please-“

“Shut the hell up, Doyle,” she laughed. “Isn’t this rich. Franky Doyle scared shitless. But nah, you’ve got nothing I want, and anyway, I’ve already been compensated for this. Generously.” She shrugged and pointed up the stairs. “Get a move on.”

“Aw, come on,” I practically whined and realized I was shaking. Images of inmates who’d been on the code black end of the governor flashed before me. Jodi. Simmo. I remembered how she’d fucked over Liz by taking her out of protection when Bea made her power play, and Boomer beat her within an inch of her life. And everyone knew she’d refused to open the door for Miss Bennet during the riot when there was a Hep C infected needle pressed to the deputy’s neck. Even Quean Bea had come pretty close when the Freak convinced Jodi to shiv her in the yard. Prison had never been a holiday, but it had become an evil hellhole since Ferguson had been on board. I walked up the rest of the steps until I could go no further, and knew I’d been bested. This was it. This was where it ended. I took a breath and turned back to Miles. “Can ya at least tell Westfall. . .” I stuttered and was surprised to find my nose was snotty and there were tears in my eyes. There weren’t a lot of things I wanted to say to a lot of people, but Gidge. Yeah. “I mean, can ya tell her. . .”

“Fuck you, Doyle. Tell her yourself,” Miles snorted with a look of disgust on her face and pointed at the door. My knees went weak and Miles saw so she pushed past me and opened the door to what appeared to be the roof of the prison. Through my glassy eyes, I spotted a figure standing by a small table out on the roof. There was a glow like from a fire and I thought I was going to die by burning. My first thought was it would suit me right for what I did to Mike Pennisi. But then my mind scrambled to make sense of the fact that the figure was way to petite to be the Freak. And the flame was way too meager to be a funeral pyre.

“What?” I gasped. “What the fuck?” I took a few steps out into the night air.

“One hour ladies,” Miles said. “That’s it.”

“Thank you,” Bridget said. And then she said it again. “Thank you.” Miles went back through the door we came from and disappeared, leaving the two of us alone on the rooftop. “Hello Franky,” she said. She took a step toward me, coming into focus, and then going out of focus again as my eyes filled up and overflowed. I collapsed to my knees. “Oh, my darling!” She cried, rushing to me. Before I knew what happened, she’d scooped her arms around me and was holding me, kneeling next to me on the ground. My body shook against her. She kissed my forehead and stroked the hair off my brow. It felt really fucking good.

And then I shoved her away. Like, I shoved her hard so she landed on her ass a bit away from me.

“What the fuck?” I howled. “I thought I was marching up here to my death and you’re lying in wait like a spider? What the fuck is this then?”

She popped back up onto her knees, not bothering to brush the hair out of her face, and crawled toward me. “Franky,” she said. She opened her hands and extended them, palms up in front of me, like you might do for a scared dog. “Please don’t be frightened. I had to see you. And Miles owed me a favor. This was all I could think of and I wanted you to see the stars. Franky. Look up, darling. I wanted you to see the stars. That was all.” She was crying too. Her face was crinkled in tears and concern. It looked mighty genuine. “You don’t ever have to forgive me. I know I hurt you, and I didn’t mean to. I swear. I didn’t. But please, Franky. Just look up at the stars.”

Honestly, I couldn’t take my eyes off her face. She looked so earnest, her eyes wide and glittering in the dark, her hands reaching out, fingers splayed. Her shirt was open at the neck and I could see her chest working fast, her collar bones accentuated like a boomerang in the shadows as she breathed hard and sharp. It briefly crossed my mind she’d lost weight.

“I trusted you!” I sobbed.

“I know,” she wept. “I know,” she crawled a bit closer to me. I sat back on my ass and pounded my fists into the floor, but I didn’t move away from her. “I’m sorry I scared you. I’m so sorry. For all of it.” She sniffled and swiped at her tears with her hands in a movement that twisted my heart up in my ribs. “It’s a beautiful night. I can go and leave you be if you want,” she whispered. I was still looking at her face and then I was terrified she was going to up and leave and I didn’t want her to go, but I didn’t know how to make her stay. “I just wanted you to be able to see the stars. I know how you’ve missed them in here. I’m so sorry. . . This was a bad idea. I’m sorry. . . I’ll go. Miles will bring you back to your cell in an hour. And no one will harm you while you’re up here.” She made like she was going to get up. I scooted over on my hands and ass and grabbed her around the waist, pulled her into me so we were sitting side to side, holding each other close, crying.

“Ya miss me?” I said at last, wiping my nose and eyes on the sleeve of my sweatshirt.

“Oh my god I did,” she gasped. “I hardly thought of anything else but you. I swear your name became the rhythm my heart was beating.” She held my face in her hands and pressed her forehead to mine. She wiped the rest of my tears with her fingers.

“What the fuck do you have over Miles that she’d do this for you? For us?” I asked.

“I made a point of making friends while I was working here. And I helped Linda get into a treatment program for problem gamblers, but that is strictly between you and me,” she winked at me. She got to her feet. “Come here,” she said. She took my hands and pulled me up to meet her. We walked to the edge of the building and she pointed up. “The prison lights sort of obscure things, but you can still see the heavens,” she said. I followed her finger and looked up, past the walls, past the wire, past all the violence and drama and lies. And I saw the stars, outside, in the fresh, cool night air, for the first time in nearly seven years.

“I don’t know anything about astronomy,” I whispered. “I just like the way it all looks.” We stood there like that for some time, hand in hand, looking up. At some point, I moved behind her and wrapped my arms around her waist. “Damn you’re tiny,” I said dropping a kiss onto her head, realizing it was the first time I’d ever held her like that. She turned in my arms and rested her head on my chest like maybe she was listening to my heart beat, like maybe it meant something to her.

“I’ll be there for your parole hearing,” she said. “I promise.”

“Always work with you, hey Gidget?”

“Old habits die hard,” she chuckled, her voice deep and lovely. “Hey, I brought you something.”

“A strap on?”

“Always sex with you, hey Franky?”

“Ya know what they say about old habits.” We laughed. A breeze blew her blonde bangs into her face and I brushed them away, stroking her cheek in the process. She led me back to the little table I’d seen when the door had first opened. On it there was a bottle of wine and two plastic tumblers. The fire I had thought I’d seen earlier was a candle.

“How do you feel about Shiraz?” She asked.

“It’s my fave,” I grinned.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” She poured the wine into the tumblers and we held them up. “What are we toasting to, Gidget?”

“Hmmm. To your parole.”

“And to the stars,” I added.

“And to the stars,” she whispered and I would have gladly given up my life right then and there for the look she was giving me. Understanding. Acceptance. And more. I wasn’t certain what the more part of her gaze was, but I knew it was something good and real. We touched our cups and drank.

“This is good stuff,” I said. “Despite the dubious stemware.”

“Sorry about that,” she said. “Linda drew the line at real glass, I’m afraid.”

“I’d love to cook for you, Gidge. Make you something real nice to go with a wine like this. What do you like to eat?”

“Is that a trick question?” She raised an eyebrow seductively at me.

“No!” I yelped, slapping her playfully. “We only have an hour up here and that’s not near long enough for what I’d do with you. So tell me, what is your favorite dish?”

“Well I guess I like Italian food,” she said.

“You guess? What are you confused?” I laughed.

“It’s just hard to think about food right now, when you’re so close.”

“Oh?” I stepped back to her and fit my hand into hers. “Long as I live, I don’t think I’ll ever forget how it feels to hold your hand. It’s like nothing else, Gidge.”

“I feel it too,” she said. “I’m sorry I couldn’t tell you before. I’m sorry for a lot of things.”

“Enough of that, yeah? Enough sorries.”

“Ok,” she said and squeezed my hand. “But I need to know. . .” she looked up at me mournfully. “Do you forgive me?”

“Yeah,” I sighed and looked up at the stars. “I mean I thought I was being walked up here to my death, and now, well, I might as well just die of happiness. It doesn’t even seem real.”

“Do you ever wish on stars?”

“Nah.” I answered honestly and I pulled her close. “But I might start.” We were quiet for a while. It almost seemed like there was too much to say, so it felt nice just to stand there being quiet with her. “You know. Somewhere down there in a bin is my stuff that was logged in with me when I was processed. A pair of jeans and a couple shirts. Probably some stuff I can’t even remember about. But there’s this one thing; it’s a necklace. I think about it all the time, and I swear if I ever get out of here I’m never going to take it off again.”

“What is it?”

“It’s a kite. A silver kite with a tail of red thread.”

“What does it mean to you?”

“Freedom.”

“That’s the most important thing to you, isn’t it?”

“I thought it was. Then I met you. And now I guess my freedom and you are all tied to the same kite string and I just wanna fly away with it, right up to the stars.” I took a couple steps away from her to the edge of the building and opened up my arms wide to the sky. I threw back my head and arched my back against the night.

“You are full of surprises. I never would have figured you for such a romantic, Franky.”

“Well, I’m not. But you bring it out in me, Gidge.” I collected my posture and tossed back the rest of my wine. “We should get matching tattoos when I get outta here? How’s that for romantic?” We laughed, falling softly against one another. I could feel her body moving in its natural rhythms, breathing and pulsating as I held her in my arms.

“You smell wild,” she murmured.

“What?!” I snapped, suddenly self conscious. I’d showered and washed my hair but my primitive prison primping didn’t hold a candle to the whole look she had going on. “Are you tellin’ me I’m festy?”

“Oh. No. No!” She said quickly. She dipped her nose in the direction of my neck. “It’s absolutely amazing.”

“What is?”

“You smell like fresh, wild sky. How do you manage to smell like the wilderness?”

“In case you hadn’t noticed, Gidge, it’s pretty wild in here. Maybe it’s the smell of metal you’re enjoying, either from iron blood or iron bars.”

“No. That’s not it. It’s you, Franky.” Her voice was all dreamy, almost like she was drunk.

“You been hittin’ the lunatic soup?” I asked, meaning to be silly and faltering when I heard my own voice crack. I took the opportunity to inhale the spot behind her ear. Blackberries and cinnamon and vanilla and cream. She smelled good enough to eat. Her hand grazed up and down my arm and my body leapt involuntarily towards her in a jerky motion.

“I don’t ever want to breath air that you aren’t in,” she whispered. Her eyes fluttered over my face. She looked confused. “I love you.”

“What?” I gasped. “You’re fucking bonkers!”

“I’m not.”

“You are!”

“No. It’s true. It’s why I couldn’t live with just fucking you. Well, partially why.”

“But you said you didn’t. . . you said you weren’t in love with me.”

“I know I did. I lied. I lied to you, but mostly I was lying to myself. I was scared. But I know it’s true. I love you, Franky. I do.”

“Nuh. Nuh way. How could you? How could someone like you love me?”

“You’re easy to love, Franky.”

“But you know. You know what I did.”

“I don’t care what you did. I know who you _are_ , Franky. And I love you.” She touched my lips with her fingers and I had the urge to bite them.

But I didn’t.

Instead, I asked, “And what about when I get out of here?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, what happens then? Will you still be interested in me?”

“Of course I will! Even more interested probably. And we can find ways to be together. We’ll have to be careful of course, but between both of us, and our stubborn determination, we can find ways.”

“So, you’re not just attracted to me because I’m an oddity? Like a fetish or something?”

“Absolutely not!” She reached up and held my face in her hands. “I know you’re used to people deserting and disappointing you, but I want you. I want to be where I can breathe the same air as you and hear your heart beat.” She blinked a few times like she was blinking back tears and she seemed like she was waiting for me to say something, but I was speechless. Breathless almost. So, she sighed and said, “That is, if you want to be with me?”

I was feeling weak in the knees again, and it wasn’t fear this time, or the wine, or even the stars. It was her. All of her, in my arms. “I gotta kiss ya Gidge. I gotta kiss ya now so I know I’m not dreaming,” I whispered and started to bring my face down to hers. She turned away at the last minute and burrowed her face into my shoulder.

“We should wait,” she said and her voice was muffled by my body. “Get parole. Get parole and we can kiss forever then.”

“Why?” I whined. “I wanna kiss you now!”

“Franky, it was hell to have to walk away from you. And I’m frightened. If I fall any deeper into you, I don’t know what would happen to me, or how I would find my way back if anything happened.”

“One little kiss, Gidget,” I breathed, kissing her forehead and then her one cheek, and then the other. “Please. One little kiss to build a dream on.” I bent slightly so I could brush my lips over her neck, and then let them rest on the bare skin that was exposed over her heart. “Starlight, star bright,” I whispered in her ear and then kissed her temple and her ear lobe. “I wish to kiss my girl tonight.”

“Am I your girl?” She exhaled and I felt her quiver in my arms.

“Oh yeah you are,” my breath rustled in her hair.

“Kiss your girl then,” she murmured. I held the back of her head in my hand and looked at her face, pale in the night. There were tears sparkling in her eyes which she blinked at me, and her lips twitched up in a smile that looked all sad and concerned too. I stroked the sides of her face with my thumbs and nestled my cheek against hers. But I couldn’t kiss her. “What’s wrong?” She asked.

“You’re so gorgeous. I can’t even believe you’re here with me. No one has ever done anything like this for me before,” I said through a mouthful of tears I didn’t even realize were there. “I want you like I never wanted anything. But I don’t want our first kiss to be in a prison with you not even sure you want me to kiss ya.”

“I do. I do want you to kiss me!” She stood up taller, trying to get eye to eye with me, her hands pulling at my hair and caressing my neck.

I sniffled. “I want us. And I want us to be different. Our story is beginning in a prison for fucks sake! That’s not a proper courtship, Gidge. You deserve better. You deserve so much better than me. I’m sorry.”

“Hey,” she said. “I thought we were done with sorries. Just being here, and seeing you, holding you in my arms, it’s more than I imagined.”

“We wouldn’t be here at all if you hadn’t believed in me like a bloody beagle on a mission,” I said.

“Yes. Well. That and violated a whole bunch of laws and ethical boundaries.”

“Look at us, Gidge! Learning from each other!” We laughed again. I hadn’t even known laughter like that was possible. It was like a whole new door opened in my heart. “How much time do we have left?”

“A little while anyway.”

“Come here then,” I said. I stretched out on the roof. It was not super comfortable, but I cradled her so her head was cushioned by my shoulder. “Let’s look at the stars.” She put her arm over my waist and snuggled into me. She kissed my cheek and it made me smile.

“Should we talk about what I’ll say at your parole hearing?”

“What? Nah! Shut up, you! I’m looking at the stars with my girl. Don’t ruin it with your talking.”

“Alright then,” she chuckled. She pressed her hand into the pocket of my sweatshirt. “And I don’t think I’ll ever get tired of that.”

“Of what? Copping a feel of my hot abs?”

“No, silly. Of you saying I’m your girl.”

“I’ll say it every day for the rest of our lives then.”

“You swear it?”

“Sure. I swear it, Gidge.” I’d been looking up at the sky, but at that I looked down to find her peering up at me. I kissed the bridge of her nose. “You’re not looking at the stars?”

“Nuh. I can’t take my eyes of you,” she answered, in that low, sultry voice that made crazy things happen in my undies. I was about to tell her about what her voice did to me, but then a breeze rippled over our bodies on the roof of the prison, her face tipped up to mine and we kissed. It was a kiss that started out little and tender, just to seal the deal, and it surprised me with its sweetness. To say her lips were soft would be like saying a bloody unicorn is sort of special. It felt like something I wasn’t worthy of, but I wanted it so bad still. Through a mighty thick layer of disbelief, I felt her wanting it too. She pressed against me and nipped my mouth open, sucking on my lower lip and slipping her tongue in to sweep against mine. And it was in that moment, in that kiss that almost didn’t even happen, I learned how to believe in the rest of forever and beyond.

My fingers slipped through her hair and I wanted to touch her everywhere all at once. It overwhelmed me and I stopped kissing abruptly. She didn’t ask why. We both sat up, knowing it wouldn’t be long before Miles was back to collect me. And then it might be weeks until we saw each other again. “We’ll figure it out,” she whispered and nuzzled her nose against mine.

I kissed her chin and said, “Take good care of my girl, will ya?”

“Of course. And you be careful in here, Franky.”

“No worries, Gidge,” I said. I kissed her full on the lips again and we held each other close until we heard the door open. Miles took me back to my cell and I was pretty certain I’d never sleep another wink, but not because of fear or anger now. I stretched out on my cot to replay the events of the past hour, and when I stuck my hands into the pockets of my sweatshirt, I found a note Gidget must have slipped in it when I wasn’t paying attention.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am adoring all of your comments so much. Thank you for your encouragement and for taking the time to read and be so kind and wonderful. This is such a sweet and special fandom. I love it here... xoxoxo, SS.


	8. Missive

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Franky reads the note slipped to her by Bridget. Just a short and sweet little chapter to check in with all you beautiful people out there in Fridget land. Hope this finds you well. xoxo.

_**“I want you to know that I will always have you,** _   
_**No matter if never physically in my arms again** _   
_**This love is like mercury, splitting off endlessly** _   
_**Every time I try to nail it down. . .** _   
_**Anything, anywhere,** _   
_**I would give everything I own away,** _   
_**Always, I will sing,** _   
_**Picturing you singing right back** _   
_**To me. . . “ Melissa Ferrick, Anything, Anywhere.** _

_My Dearest,_

_If you are reading this, it means I’ve been able, one way or another, to get a message to you. I picture you reading my words, as you lie on your bed in your lonely cell. I imagine you looking up anxiously from time to time as you hear a noise, or to make sure no one is watching. Indeed, you must be careful, and you should destroy this page after you have read it._

_It was not that I wanted to leave you. Please understand and forgive me. I will spend the rest of my life making up for this transgression, if need be. My life’s work will be to ensure there is never again a trace of that hurt and despair in your eyes, rather only peace and happiness. This mission will be my daily joy, should you create space in your life for me, for us. Being apart from you has been terrible. I miss the bright surprise of catching your face pop out from a crowd. Often I get the feeling of excitement of a child spotting a runaway balloon drifting in the sky, all magic and colors, when I see you. Could you know, I wonder, what this is like? And could it be possible you feel it too? I think the answer is yes, at least I pray it is._

_Anyway, I haven’t left you, not really. You are with me, every moment, every breath, every blink of my eyes even. I sleep with you curled deep inside of me and I never let you go. Not for one instant. We are together every beat of our hearts._

_I know I am asking you to do things that are foreign and frightening- to trust, to believe. But please do them anyway. I am asking you to trust and believe in me and my words, and yet I have not been completely honest with you. If I am to ask for your trust, I must behave in a manner befitting of such an honor._

_I left to protect you. It was the only move I had left to make in a terrible and impossible chess match. We were outplayed. I know you won’t believe or feel the truth of that, but I promise you were it not for the need to keep you and your freedom safe, I would stayed. Anything else I could have risked to be near you, but not your safety._

_You asked me once what I was afraid of. At the time there was no answer I could offer, so I walked silently away from you. I was scared to face what I felt, yes I was a coward, but more than that, I was scared that even a hair on your head would be harmed because of my presence in your life. That harm would come to you was something I just couldn’t live with. I still can’t live with that risk._

_Purposely, I am being vague, lest you have enough information to go off and do something impulsive. However, I will not mince words when I tell you to be careful. Danger lurks behind every corner for you right now, and you must be ever on your guard. Brace yourself, but do not react foolishly, for I fear the end will not come without additional trials. Be safe. Do this. Do this for me, please._

_I would spend all day and night writing to you, but again I fear the risk it imposes upon us. We must be patiently diligent to make a way forward for our future- a future I hope will be shared. Just know I am forever and inextricably intertwined with you. I wanted you to see it in writing, to read it, to internalize it, to memorize it. I miss you with a ferocity I did not know was possible, but all the while chanting soon, soon, soon._

_Yours, should you want me,_

_G._

.........

Franky pressed the stiff paper against her chest, wrinkling it with the pressure of her hands it until it was soft and supple as a sheet of fabric. She looked around her cell at her usual hiding places. She considered stuffing it into her bra and keeping it there throughout the day.

She read it a second time. A third. A fourth. Then she took a deep breath and tore a small piece off the corner. She put it in her mouth and let it dissolve on her tongue like a snowflake. Then she tore a second piece and repeated the process. A third. A fourth. In that manner, she consumed Bridget’s words, became them and they her.

No one could steal or confiscate or destroy this message now. No one could sully it with savage intentions, use it against her, or make its beauty disappear. No one could do any of that to the message now.

It was part of her.


	9. Smoking Pile of Ash

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You can thank ShiryaW for this chapter. . . I had some major writer's block on this story and didn't know if I'd ever come back to it. But her super enthusiastic comments got my Fridget juices flowing again. . . I hope you enjoy it and I hope it finds you all very, very well indeed. As always, thank you so much for giving my little fic the time of day, and you are all so very exquisitely lovely for your kind and generous comments which I love with my big, fat, Fridget beating heart. xoxoxo, SS.

_**“I feel the pain and it feels good** _   
_**I knew it would, your heart burns slow** _   
_**I feel the pain and I cry out, I cry out. . .** _   
_**I need you, I need you!” — Sia, House on Fire** _

 

It’s never a good thing when your phone rings in the middle of the night. Or when your cell phone vibrates next to your head, as the case may be. Either way, it is never a good sign. Never. I wasn’t really sleeping. I was lying in the dark feeling bitched out and annoyed about the fact that I was awake, but the buzz startled me all the same. Rolling over to stop it as quickly as possible, I nearly fell out of my bed. It was a silly instinct. It wasn’t like there was anyone there a midnight phone call (or buzz) would disturb, other than me, but adrenaline can be a fucker.

The screen was bright and I squinted at it, trying to bring the caller ID into focus. Curiously, it said “Unknown Caller”. I slid the arrow across the screen to answer and find out who my mystery midnight caller was.

“It’s Vera,” the mystery caller divulged, rendering me strangely mute. When my sudden silence persisted for more than a moment, she continued. “Vera Bennet, the Deputy Governor at Wentworth?” What a bizarre little woman. As if I wouldn’t know who she was just by Vera. As if we hadn't just had coffee the other day to discuss Ferguson's mental state. 

“Yes, yes, Vera. What’s happened.” I sat up in bed and clicked on the lamp on the table beside me. Vera coughed and sounded like she was breathing shakily, like a child does when they are about to have a cry.

“Bridget, I’m sorry to wake you. I know it’s late, but I thought you would want to know, I mean you’ll see it on the news in the morning, but I wanted to tell you before then. There. . . there’s been. . “ she paused to cough again.

“Vera! What the fuck is going on?” I practically shrieked. I threw off the covers and got out of bed. I started pacing the length of my room. “Is it Franky? Is Franky alright?”

“Yes. I mean, no. I mean, what I mean is, there’s been a fire. Doyle, um, Franky has been taken to hospital. I thought you’d want to know.”

“Oh my god,” I hissed and sank to the floor. “What happened?”

“Ferguson. Bridget you were right about her. You were right about all of it. She set the fire, and, well, look it’s a long story. She’s been arrested, but she seems to be in a state of acute psychosis so they’ve certified her to the psychiatric ward.”

“I don’t give a flying fuck about Ferguson, Vera. What is happening with Franky?”

“Oh, right.” Vera cleared her throat. “She assisted in the efforts to rescue Anderson’s baby, after he’d been kidnapped by Jess Warner. Part of the building collapsed and she was trapped under some debris. It looks like she sustained a sprained shoulder and she took on a lot of smoke. She was unconscious when they took her away by ambulance. They’ll be assessing the extent of her injuries at hospital.”

“Burns?” I whispered. Franky’s green eyes floated before my own like a vision and for a moment I thought I was going to lose consciousness.

“Nothing major,” Vera answered quickly. “Listen, Bridget, I put you on the visitor’s list and made some accommodations on her floor at hospital. You can go see her if you like, be there when she wakes up. I’ve told they you’re to be there as her individual therapist, that it’s a unique situation and they should give you whatever access you need.”

I was already pulling my jeans up over my hips as I said, “Thank you, Vera. I owe you one.”

“You’re welcome, Bridget. And I think we’ll call it even for now.”

“Fair enough,” I said and was about to hang up when I heard Vera cough again. “Hey, Vera? How about you? Are you okay?” I felt bad asking it as an after thought. I put her on speaker phone so I could fasten my bra and pull a sweater over my head.

“Considering I’ve just been promoted to Governor, I’d say I’m doing just fine,” she answered. “When the dust has settled, you’ll have to come round so we can have a chat about reinstating you at Wentworth, if you want. Give Franky my best.”

“Will do,” I said and ended the call.

Driving exhausted and frantic at two in the morning was hardly a good idea. Thankfully there was barely any traffic as I swung through the streets to the hospital, and I arrived in one piece. I signed in and flashed my identification badge at the nurse’s station, to assure the medical staff I possessed proper credentials to be visiting with a prisoner in their care. But the only credential I actually had was the rampant beating of my heart. The heart that beat for her. The heart that wanted to ascertain she was safe and coming home to me. _Coming home to me? Fuck, what was I even thinking!_ Gosh I was fucking tired. It didn’t matter. The nurse looked at my ID and then at my face, and I was suddenly aware of the fact I’d not even put on a film of lip balm or brushed my hair. I gave her a pinched smile. It wasn’t the first time I had to show up in the middle of the night to see a patient. It wasn’t the first time I’d been paged to assess a case and make professional recommendations.

Only I’d not been paged.

And Franky wasn’t a case, or a patient, or a client, or a number to tick off toward my productivity for the week.

And I had nothing professional to offer regarding her care or aftercare or her psychological status.

I loved her.

I fucking loved her, and I wanted to be there and I wanted her to wake up and to know I was there and to know I loved her and I’d never ever fucking go away.

The charge nurse at the station didn’t give a shit. She smiled and nodded. “She’s in 303,” she said. I thanked her and commanded my feet to walk down the hall. I raked my fingers through my hair, straightened my sweater, and clipped my badge to the place where maybe it would look the most official.

A guard lounged outside her room. When he saw me, he sat up a bit straighter and I gave him my professional smile. “I’m here to see Doyle,” I said.

“Yep,” he said and glanced my badge. “The new Governor said you’d be around and we should let you through. You have clearance to stay as long as you. . . uh, need or want?” He shuffled in front of the door and then stepped away. “Quite a scene over there tonight, hey?”

“Yes. So I hear.” I said as calmly as I could muster.

“I heard the Governor went mad and had some sort of psycho rampage. That true?” His eyes were wide, wanting the gossip so he could be the first to tell his mates.

“I’m afraid all that information is need to know,” I said, but I winked and I pulled a compulsory face of shock and horror which caused me to do something weird with my nose and to squint my eyes. _Pull yourself together, Bridget,_ I yelled internally and passed him so I could push through the door into the hospital room.

It was dimly lit. A yellowish light pulsed around the bed where she lay on her back, limp and still. “Oh,” I gasped and felt my legs start to quiver. My hands came to my mouth and covered my lips. I turned back toward the door and discreetly pulled the shades down to create a bit more privacy, then I turned back to her.

As a professional, you get used to making loads of visits to awful places. I mean, I worked in a prison for Christ sake. I’d been to hospital bedsides, inpatient psych wards, and even worse the psych wards in prisons where the despair is so violently primal. For example, I’d had shit and cum thrown at me when I was interning in the psych ward at Walford. I’d witnessed the carnage that violence left on people, both internally and externally. Let’s just say it wasn’t stuff I could casually chat about on a date or at a holiday dinner with my family. It would horrify them and with good reason; it was scary shit. But for some reason or another, it never truly phased me. I was able to tune down the fear center in my brain and focus on the work. It’s a trick you learned. It’s a trick people in tricky jobs learned as a part of their training, to make the ugliness of stress somehow sacred. You’d be surprised what a person could convince their brain to do in order to make friends with a particularly nasty situation. It’s the skill that allowed firefighters to run into flaming buildings, or surgeons to cut through a human’s flesh and play god with their internal bits and pieces. For whatever reason, it was a skill I had, and I’d never batted an eye at almost anything I’d seen in hospital or prison or morgue. You see, I’d been adequately prepared for nearly everything I’d ever encounter in my professional life, and I had the flexibility to manage the surprises I’d not encountered.

Nothing had adequately prepared me for walking to the bedside where Franky lay that night. And while my brain grappled, there seemed to be no manipulation it could make that could convince it to flex in a way to manage what lay before me.

It was the first time I’d ever seen her sleeping. In fact, it was the first time I’d really ever seen her not in some form of vibrant activity. I approached the hospital bed, briefly glancing the monitors to note that her vitals were strong and stable. I scanned her up and down, noting her left arm was cuffed to the bed. Seeing her chained up like that did something to me, and for a moment I couldn’t see anything at all as my eyes flooded with tears. Somehow, at some point, of which I’d not been aware, I’d stopped seeing Franky Doyle as a prisoner. Being reminded of this cold, hard fact now clanked in my head like the steel of the cuff around her delicate wrist.

I plucked a tissue out of the box next to the bed and wiped my eyes, thankful I wasn’t wearing makeup for once. Continuing my exam, I took note that she had an IV dripping what looked like a bag of saline and something else into her right arm. I was too tired to reach up and read the labels on the bags, so I trusted she was getting what she needed. In her nose she had the plastic cannula tubing which was strung up to a canister of oxygen.

She looked peaceful enough, and seemed to be breathing comfortably. I on the other hand was so fraught I felt sea sick. My stomach waved and twisted with the nausea of exhaustion and anxiety. There was a chair next to her bed and I sank into it. My hand found hers and took it carefully so as not to disturb her or any of the IV tubing.

“I’m here, Baby. I’m here.” I started to choke on my own tears as they backed up in my throat. “Franky. You’re okay. And I’m here. I won’t leave you. You just rest now. Dream sweet.”

I tucked my feet under me and put my head down on the pillow next to hers. I kissed her forehead and all I could smell was smoke and terror. In her sleep she wheezed slightly, but she didn’t wake. There was a streak of ash across her cheek and jaw. I tried to wipe at it with a tissue, but it was intractable, so I got up and found a cloth which I wet with warm water and a dab of soap at the sink. I returned and gently made the soot disappear. As I was doing this, the door opened and a nurse came in. “Sorry to disturb, but I need to take vitals and check her oxygen.”

“Of course,” I said. “I was just getting some of the soot off of her face.” I stepped away awkwardly from the bed as the nurse stepped over. She noted the vitals that flashed on the machine and clipped a little device onto Franky’s index finger.

“Pulse ox is good now,” she said.

“Has she been conscious at all?”

“Not since we brought her in. She was in quite some discomfort from the junk that fell on her when the building collapsed, and the medication she was given for the pain certainly made her drowsy. And with all the smoke she took on, we didn’t want her, uh, waking? And stressing or struggling with pain and having a more difficult time breathing, so doctor felt it best she be sedated until the extent of her injuries were more fully assessed. Sometimes prisoners can become combatant if they are disoriented.”

“I can assure you that this inmate will cause you no stress or struggle.” Regardless of my efforts, my voice was still defensive. “She will cooperate fully with her treatment. You do not need to be concerned with her becoming combatant.” I smiled weakly. The nurse looked me up and down.

“Righto,” she said, brightly. She examined the IV lines. “You certainly are diligent coming all this way for a prisoner in the middle of the night.”

She was young and I was certain she hadn’t the faintest clue how her words landed, but I winced. “Yes. Well, fires are certainly a top tier trauma and this patient has been working very hard on her own issues and is up for parole in just a couple weeks. I want to make sure she sees a reassuring face when she wakes.” That wasn’t what I wanted to say. What I wanted to say was something more along the lines of, “You little twat, how dare you call that gorgeous, brilliant woman a _prisoner_. You know nothing of what she has been through, and of what she is capable, and for you to reduce her to a naive stereotype is fucking stupid and arrogant!” But I didn’t say that because I didn’t want to get kicked out. My pride and principals were far less important than being there for Franky when she woke up.

“The world probably needs more people like you in it, yeah? I’m just going to take some blood now.” She fished into a little box to get at some tubes and a syringe.

“What’s the blood workup for?”

“They just want to run some repeat tests. It’s routine. CBC panel, chemistries, and an arterial blood gas just to see that everything is filtering out and she’s properly on the mend.” She filled up her little tubes, stuck labels to them, and plopped them back into her little bucket. “We should have the results in a bit, but she’ll probably be out a few more hours at least. If you want you could go stretch out in the doctors' lounge? We can have you paged when she wakes?”

“Nuh,” I said and smiled. I crossed my arms over my chest. “I’m not leaving.”

“Can I get you anything to make it more comfortable? A coffee, or anything?”

“I’m fine thank you.” She gathered her chart to her chest like a little schoolgirl, box of blood in the other hand, and smiled at me. Did she know, I wondered? Something about the demeanor of the guard outside the room had led me to believe maybe they had been tipped off that my reasons for being here were not altogether of a professional nature. I quickly decided that I did not care and said, “Actually, I would like to speak with her doctor. It would be best to get her off of all of these sedatives as soon as possible. And I would like to review her chart. I actually had no interest in reviewing Franky’s chart, but I added that bit for good measure.

“Certainly,” she said brightly. I was beginning to resent her chipper attitude, which was a bit too enthusiastic for two something in the morning. She finally left the room and I resumed my post and stood by Franky’s side.

“What a ditz,” I whispered in Franky’s general direction and rolled my eyes. Even in my exhausted state, I was struck with the desire to do something. To do something for her. And then I realized I didn’t even know what she really liked to eat or read or watch on the telly. What was her favorite flavor of ice cream, or was she lactose intolerant and didn’t even eat ice cream? Did she have a preference for sweets or savory? Did she enjoy celebrity gossip, or would she find it boring and vain? Would she want me to read her poetry or Harry Potter? I had a feeling she wasn’t religious and wouldn’t want a priest to visit, but how could I be certain?

I bit my fingers and tugged at my hair as the cold fish of this fact struck me across my sleep deprived, swollen face- _I was in love with a woman I didn’t even know._

Here were the facts: I’d rushed, poorly groomed and half conscious, in the middle of the night, to be by the side of a woman who was currently handcuffed to a hospital bed, a woman who if anyone knew exactly the extent of my feelings I’d be promptly excommunicated from my profession and stripped of my license to practice psychotherapy. And I was willing to risk it all for someone who’s favorite fucking ice cream flavor I didn’t even fucking know? What the hell was I possibly thinking?

But that was it. I wasn’t thinking. For once, I wasn’t being led around by my oh-so-superior cognition. I was feeling. It was my heart that had brought me to Franky that night, just like it was my heart that bribed Officer Miles into allowing our rooftop visit. The muscles in my legs started to twitch with an anxious urge to run, to flee, to get the fuck out of there as quickly as I could. My heart never made super great decisions. So I sat there, and my head tried to convince me I could forget her. I’d done it before. I could refocus. I could write another book, teach some adjunct courses at uni, or travel the lecture circuit for a year. I could do it again.

There’s a reason we don’t normally stay up and try to make important decisions in the middle of the night. Our brains want our sleep, to power down and reset. When you get started on a path of existential questioning under duress, it never leads to anything good, kind of like those midnight phone calls. Ironically, the thinking part of my brain knew this and reminded my twitching muscles that they did not need to make any choices right at that point in time. And this helped to calm the frenetic beat of my heart. I took a deep breath, and smiled bitterly. It was what I would tell a patient to do, but it didn’t feel so great or easy to do it myself.

I adjusted the covers around Franky. She was dressed in a light, hospital gown that had probably been worn a hundred times by a hundred people. Fuck, it had probably even been died in a time or two. I stroked her forearm and found my fingers drawn to the black spiral on the inside of her left wrist. It had healed over and faded a bit, but I remembered the first time I’d seen it when it had been new and red and swollen. I’d remarked that it looked painful, and she’d quipped that there was a pleasure in pain.

I put my fingers around her wrist and ran my thumb over the tat. She’d grinned at me and I’d walked away trying to appear composed but feeling a sincere appreciation for her hilarity, and for the way she stuck out her tongue between her teeth in that lascivious manner when she teased me. In retrospect, it was like I didn’t have a clue, but I knew all the way. As I traced the spiral on her arm from the outer edges into the center, I stopped wanting to run. I was there.

We were there. Middle of the spiral. Together. 

“We have time, Franky,” I whispered. “And we will get to know all the things, but for right now, I know every thing that matters.” I leaned over her and stroked the hair away from her face and pressed a kiss to her sleeping lips.

As I straightened up, I realized it was a damn good thing I hadn’t run off, because it was at that moment Franky chose to open her eyes. Her disoriented, jade gaze glimmered over me and then across the room and then back to me. “Gidge? Am I dreaming?” Her voice was raw and she coughed with the effort it took to speak.

“No, Baby. I’m here. You’re in hospital. There was an accident, but you’re alright. Do you remember the fire?” I asked and she nodded. I planted myself on the edge of her bed. “You’re okay. They said you wouldn’t be awake for hours yet.”

“Yeah, well, I’ve always been an over achiever,” she rasped. Her eyes were red and looked swollen. I hoped inwardly that they hadn’t been burned and made a mental note to ask the doctor to assess this in the morning. “Gidge, my throat. It’s so dry.” I got her some water and held it to her lips so she could take a sip.

“I hear you are quite the hero,” I said. She squeezed my hands and rolled her eyes but she didn’t say anything. “Hey, look. They have you on meds for pain, and they have you sedated. But I’m going to speak to your doctor and get you off of the sedation so you can think straight, okay? Don’t try to speak now. Just rest.” She nodded and her eyes rolled back in her head like she was going to lose consciousness again. But they popped back open and I caught the tiny reflection of myself on her misty irises.

“You’re really here?”

“I’m here, Franky. I won’t leave.” I nuzzled her cheek with my nose and felt her nod her head to acknowledge she’d heard me. Quickly, before she faded out again, I whispered in her ear, “I love you.” She moved her head so it rested against mine and I could tell she was out again.

I liked the idea she’d fallen asleep with the image of me on her own eyeballs. It was romantic in a weird way, which summed up our relationship. It also gave me a sense of contentment that she’d woken, even briefly, and seen I was there. She knew I’d stay and I’d look out for her. My relief and exhaustion created a sedative under which I was as helpless as Franky was under her medication. At some point, I dozed off in the chair by Franky’s side.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More to come soon I hope!! Thank you so much for reading and for any comments you care to leave. I love being her with you all so so so much!!!


	10. Breathing Treatment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I don't always write fluff, but when I do it involves Fridget having heart to heart conversations. . .

_**“Then you came back to me and I went down on one knee** _   
_**With a glint in my eyes** _   
_**And a rose between my teeth** _   
_**And I pushed out my tongue for you to see, that I’d been dying** _   
_**Of a thirst for your company. . .” — The The, August & September** _

The first thing I felt was the burning in my chest. It felt as though a fiery rake ran through my lungs when I inhaled, and I coughed like a son of a bitch when I exhaled. My throat felt like I’d swallowed a load of broken glass and every other inch of my body hurt as well.

Except for my right hand.

My right hand felt warm and sort of fuzzy. When I forced my neck off the pillow to look up, I saw Bridget, draped over the edge of my bed, holding my hand in hers, with a few locks of her shiny, yellow hair flowing onto my fingers. I put my head back on the pillow and smiled in spite of the knife that felt like it was going through my shoulder and up into my spine. I squeezed her hand and she stirred in her sleep. She sat up, stretched her back, and saw I was awake.

“Well, look who’s up,” she said with a sleepy smile.

“I could say the same for-“ I started but was taken by a fit of hacking. She sprang up and grabbed a pitcher of water and poured some into a little plastic cup with a straw. She positioned the straw at my lips. I sipped and swallowed some of the icy liquid which felt amazing on my ragged throat. She rubbed her eyes and tucked her hair behind her ear with the hand that wasn’t holding the cup. _Oh, my kingdom for a sweet, sleepy Gidget,_ I thought and I wanted to say it, but my voice only managed, “How long you been here, Gidge?”

“Since after they brought you in, about two in the morning. Vera called me and put me on your list. You don’t remember waking up and seeing me last night?”

“Nuh. I guess I was pretty out of it. Oh, well, we shall have to send our dear old Miss Bennett a basket of fruit for her consideration,” I joked but the effort it took to speak made me cough like crazy again. She positioned the straw back against my lips.

“Here. Sip.” She commanded gently. I did as I was ordered. “I’ll speak with the doctor about getting something for that cough.”

“I could get used to this, being waited on by a sexy blonde in bed.” My instinct was to grab for her, but as I went to raise my arms, I found my left arm cuffed to the bed. I glanced at it as a mix of mild frustration and complete humiliation. “Fuck,” I hissed. She rolled her eyes as if to say, _don’t worry about it_ , and lowered her head to meet mine on the pillow. Her lips brushed over mine. “Oh, could I ever get used to this,” I whispered.

“Yes, well don’t get too used to it. I’ll have some stern words for you after you get out of here about what you did last night. What were you thinking, Franky? Running into a burning building like that? You could have met your death.” She straightened up and gave me a cross expression that was really sort of amused underneath, the way she used to look at me when she was my therapist, but she was actually totally hot for me, but she just didn’t realize it yet. It made me grin.

“Aw, come on Gidget. I’m a hero. You can’t stay mad at me.”

“Mmmmh,” she sighed and lowered her face to my ear. “Happily, you’re a hundred percent correct on both accounts,” she said and her tongue came out and flicked my ear lobe. I turned my face to try to catch her, but as I did, I caused myself an intense shock of pain in my neck and shoulder. I cried out unintentionally. “Oh, god, Franky! Are you okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, but I change my mind. This bedside Gidget thing might just be torture after all.”

“Not so much pleasure in pain now, is there?” She was trying to make a joke, but there were tears in her eyes.

“Oh, come on now,” I said as my eyes started to well up in response to hers.

“I was so worried,” she breathed in a gush of tears. “If anything had happened to you, Franky! If anything had-“

“But it didn’t now, did it?” I found the button on the bed and pushed so I could get into a more upright position. Oh fuck my head hurt! Everything just hurt. I guess that was what one called the natural consequence of a flaming prison collapsing on ya.

“You’re in a lot of pain, aren’t you?” No one had ever looked at me before with that look of concern, genuine concern and love. “I will speak with the doctor about ordering something for your pain. He was here earlier and I had him discontinue the sedatives you were on because I didn’t want your brain to be fuzzy. But I won’t have you in pain.”

“I’ll be okay, Gidge,” I said. “You don’t need to worry about me.”

“Um, maybe you don’t understand how this works,” she said, and her voice had an edge to it as did her hand which she waved back and forth between us like a blade. “But you and I, we’re sort of a thing, secret as we may be, and I absolutely need to fucking worry about you, Franky.”

“Okay, okay,” I said and smiled like a fool through my tears. “Thank you. Thank you for taking care of me and for sticking up for me and know that I will return the favor someday soon, hopefully.”

“You’re welcome. And I hope you never have to repay the favor. I just need you to recover enough so I can kick your ass and make you promise to never ever ever do something like that again.”

“I promise, Gidge,” I said and reached for her hand. “You don’t need to kick my ass, I mean, unless you’re into that sort of stuff.”

She gave me a super serious Gidget face that looked like she had been shipwrecked by demons while hungover and grieving her dead dog after finding out her ex had started dating her best friend and her favorite show had been cancelled. Seriously, it was like the most complicated and emotionally charged face I’d ever seen and it made me want to pull the covers over my head. “Look at me, Franky. Promise me. It’s not just you on your own anymore. Whatever happens to you happens to me too now. You have to realize this.”

I peeked up at her, “I do. I promise you. But you have to realize those girls have been my family and I had to help Dor. There’s a code in there. It’ll be different when I’m out, but I need you to understand that I didn’t have a choice but to go get Joshua. And Gidge, I’m sorry, please don’t be mad at me, but I’d do it again.”

“Yeah,” she said and her face relaxed and she sighed. “I know you would. I suppose it’s one of the things I love about you. And I do love you.”

“Yeah ya do!” I said. “Now where’s that spunky smile that gets me so hot in my panties? Or in this case, this very sexy hospital gown. How many people you reckon died in this thing?”

“Franky!”

“What?”

“I was wondering exactly that same thing last night!”

“Oh my god you were not!”

“I was, I swear!” She looked almost giddy. And maybe my brain had been damaged from all the smoke I’d inhaled, or maybe it was the residual drugs coursing my bloodstream, but in that moment, her smile was better than anything I’d ever experienced in my entire life.

“We are so meant for one another, Gidget, especially if you get me more pain meds.”

“I’m going to go to the nurse’s station now and have the doctor paged. Membership has its privileges,” she said and winked at me.

“Aw, you’re hot when you’re pulling professional rank for me, but hurry back,” I said as she started toward the door. She plumped out her lips to me in a little kiss. There was a tremendous clatter out in the hall and I just about jumped out of my skin.

“Fuck!” I yelped. My scream made my throat close up and I started to sputter and choke. Had the room filled with smoke? I swear the room filled with smoke. A literal ton of smoldering bricks came crashing down around my head. I cowered, trying to protect my brain and other internal organs, but I was pinned down and couldn’t move so I knew I was gonna die The smoke was so thick I could barely see and it was hot, so fucking hot, I was about to pass out from the heat and the fumes of burning gas and plastic and paint and the flames were licking like tiger tongues and they were going to get me. I was going to fucking die.

“Hey, hey,” Bridget said softly and came back to my bed. My heart was beating faster than a puppy trying to escape a crocodile. “What happened?” She took my hand. I looked around wildly. “Look at me. Franky. Over here. Look at me and concentrate on my voice, okay? You’re okay. You’re here with me. You’re safe.”

“I’m going to die!” I gasped.

“No. No, Baby. You’re safe. Nothing is going to hurt you now. I think you just had a flashback. You’re brain is reliving the trauma you experienced, but that’s in the past now and you’re here with me.”

“Fucking hell,” I muttered.

“Exactly,” she said and chuckled. “Look around the room and tell me three things you can see.”

“Uh, clock, door, white board with stupid messy writing on it.”

“Good. Now tell me what color the stupid, messy writing is in.”

“Purple marker.”

“Okay. Now tell me what time the clock says.”

“Six thirty seven.”

“Good job. We just did a grounding exercise to bring your body and mind back into the present moment and out of the traumatic memory. How are you feeling now?”

“A bit better. Calmer. Thanks.”

“Of course,” she said and wiped the tears I didn’t even realize were streaming down my face. “Do you want to tell me about it?”

“I don’t know, Gidge. I thought I was a goner. I really thought I was going to die down there and that the Freak was going to be the last person I ever saw.”

“But you didn’t now, did you?” She stroked the sides of my face gently. She brought the cup of water to my mouth and had me sip again. The basic bodily function of swallowing was oddly helpful. “Slow breaths, Franky. Not too deep or hard. Your lungs are still damaged from the smoke, and they will heal, but we need to go slow.” I did what she said. I followed her voice and felt my heart slow down.

“It was like hell. Everything I’d been through in that place, I’d thought I’d seen it all. Even when I was beaten, or when my hand was burned in the steam press, or when I was so scared I could have pissed myself- none of it held a candle to being in that hell fire. I wanted you, I wanted to tell you,” I choked, half from the tears and half from the acrid burn in my throat. She shushed me and gave me my water again.

“What did you want to tell me? You can tell me now.”

“I wanted to tell you I loved ya. I must have said it a hundred times in my mind. And I wanted to tell you thanks for believing I was good. No one ever told me I was good before, and that meant something, ya know? I thought if I was gonna die, at least I was gonna die knowing that one person in this bitch of a world thought I was a good person.”

She put her hand over her heart and tilted her head. Tears streamed down her face. “I’ll tell you every day so you know and never forget,” she said.

“‘You quenched my loneliness with your tears.’”

“What now?”

“It’s a line from an old song. A song I used to like,” I muttered. I was suddenly very tired and my eyes were burning maybe from the crying or maybe from being open or maybe from being burned by hell fire. I didn’t even know.

“I’m going to see about your pain meds,” she said and stood. She didn’t get far, though because before she got to the door it opened and a nurse came in.

“We have a nebulizer treatment for Ms. Doyle,” she said. “To help open her airways. If you want to wait outside, or go down to the cafeteria, we can have you called when she’s done.”

“No, I want her to stay,” I said.

“It’s okay, Franky. I’ll go talk to the doctor and come right back after.”

“Nah. Best you stay Miss Westfall. I might get traumatized by the treatment and need a therapeutic intervention,” I winked at her as the nurse was setting up the breathing apparatus. Bridget shook her head at me and smiled.

“Well, we wouldn’t want you getting triggered, would we?” She played along.

“Could ya hold my hand Miss Westfall?” I asked her before a cough shook me so hard I was sure it broke a few ribs.

“Actually you’ll need your hand to hold the device,” the nurse interjected and looked back and forth between the two of us as if confused and concerned.

“It’s okay,” Bridget said to the nurse, and then to me, “I think you’ll do just fine, Franky, but I’ll sit right next to you, alright?” She took her place in the seat next to my bed as the nurse put a vial of liquid into the square machine. She flipped a switch and it started to make a whirring noise and some vapor came out. The nurse handed me a tube with a mouthpiece on the end and instructed me to put it in my mouth and breathe as I would normally. I cooperated.

“You may feel a bit shaky after,” the nurse told me.

“She needs the doctor to order something for her pain,” Bridget said. The nurse said she would organize something and left the room.

“Have I told you how much I love it when you boss people around on my behalf?” I said and grinned.

“Take your medicine, Franky.”

“Oh, yes ma’am,” I said and leaned back against my pillows and closed my eyes. Honestly I thought maybe I would fall asleep, but the thought of waking up and her not being there freaked me out so my eyes snapped open and I sat back up and I didn’t give a fuck about the pain. “Gidge?”

“Yeah?”

“You won’t leave me while I’m sleeping? Will ya?”

“Not a chance, Baby,” she said and put a hand on my thigh.

“I might fall asleep. I’m so tired.”

“I bet you are. And you should get all the sleep you can.”

I was breathing the treatment and it seemed like it was helpful, but I also just wanted to talk to her. “I love you, you know? I fucking love you.”

“And I fucking love you. Now be quiet and take your treatment. Rest.” She smiled, but she looked so tired. I felt awful for keeping her up and for making her worried. Part of me was nervous about this, but another part of me was just so tired and her hand on my leg felt so good. “Here, let me,” she said and took the mouth piece and held it because my hand was falling and I was going to fall asleep. In my half asleep state I felt her kiss my cheek and I heard her voice. “Hey, what’s your favorite ice cream?”

“Peanut butter cup,” I murmured with a smile. “What’s yours?”

“I suppose I like anything I can share with you,” she said and I decided those were the sweetest words I was ever going to fall asleep on in my life, so I drifted off right then and there.


End file.
